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