Antarctica

Father, we fled your house of grey
 We ran from home to seek a place
 Where our bodies would never grow
 Dreamer, child, be cautious of this world
 She has an appetite for boys and girls
 And she's hungry for your soul
 Little boys with dreams of paper planes
 Were never meant to scrape the sky
 Keep your feet on the ground kid
 Only birds were meant to fly
 Little boys with dreams of paper planes
 Were never meant to scrape the sky
 Keep your head from the clouds kid
 Keep your wings, always keep them by your side
 Remember, before you fly, you'll fall
 Before you walk, you'll crawl
 Before you fly, you'll fall
 Before you walk, you'll crawl
 You've no need to stitch your shadow to your heels
 No, not this time
 Son, you'll walk with no whisper, no sound
 Only the feet of the heavy-hearted are held to the ground
 You've no need to draw the curtains, son, throw them wide
 Cross the borders between the never-ending night
 Find the twinkle in your smile
 Chase it on 'til morning
 Past the second star to the right
 Little boys with dreams of paper planes
 Were never meant to scrape the sky
 Keep your feet on the ground kid
 Only birds were meant to fly
 Little boys with dreams of paper planes
 Were never meant to scrape the sky
 Keep your head from the clouds kid
 Keep your wings, always keep them by your side
 We'll be the smoke curling on the still
 The airship captains, we wait for sun to brush the hills
 Son, I share your windward dreams
 To soar from this little town of shacked up windows
 And swinging doors (swinging doors)
 The rafters creak and the floorboards groan
 While the shadows dance to the tapping of my toes
 There's nothing left for us but altitude
 We'll be the kings of the air (there's nothing left for us here, there's nothing left for us here)
 There's nothing left for us but altitude
 We'll be the kings of the air (we'll be the kings of the air)
 ♪
 Stolen by the wind that turns the leaves to razors
 Holding just a string, our twine and our paper lost to the breeze
 Stolen by the wind that turns the leaves to razors
 Holding just a string, our twine and our paper lost to the breeze