Olivia

When you demand a phone, from an airport in Quatar, don’t say love’s a joke, a fuel trail all we use, searching skies near and far, trying to fix the fuse, Saints may reveal the bones, some leave the door ajar, passion can't fly alone, whoever picks a Digi feud, in a crowded airport bar, has nothing left to lose, are we anywhere near home, a tarmac strip too far, no longer to bumble along, his is not a pleasant view, even within yellow zones, life circles around us, hear the engines roar.