Words by Steven Page & Ed Robertson

Music by Ed Robertson



I look straight in the window, try not to look below

Pretend I'm not up here, try counting sheep

But the sheep seem to shower off this office tower

Nine-point-eight straight down I can't stop my knees.



Chorus:

I wish I could fly

From this building, from this wall

And if I should try,

would you catch me if I fall?



My hands clench the squeegee, my secular rosary

Hang on to your wallet, hang on to your rings

Can't look below me, or something might throw me

Curse at the windstorms that October brings.



I look in the boardroom; a modern pharaoh's tomb

I'd gladly swap places, if they care to dive

They're lined up at the window, peer down into limbo

They're frightened of jumping, in case they survive.



I wish I could step from this scaffold

onto soft green pastures, shopping malls, or bed

With my family and my pastor and my grandfather who's Dead



Look straight in the mirror, watch it come clearer

I look like a painter, behind all the grease

But paintings creating, and I'm just erasing

A crystal-clear canvas is my masterpiece



Chorus