I'm running out of fuel over Leningrad In seven lonely hours I'll be gone. She just finished up her to Jupiter I knew she would make it all along. They're running low on funds at the planetarium In seven winter months they'll have to close. Then Joesph swapped the gels in the west project So now the big bang bullet point list glows. Francis said to meet him near the gift shop And Io failed to light this afternoon He won't mind if I decide to fix her Skip the coffee cakes and pink balloons I'm flying slow and low over the urals Thirty frozen minutes until I can send Radar called out bogeys west of ussuriysk And Valdimirov had found me in the end And they still don't see Cause the don't know me, I am the night mare With bullets all around me in the cold, sun And shivering in Soviets with right, there And sparks this goddamn dog fight is a close, one I'm burning across the deck into a steep, climb Then rollover at eighteen thousand dive, dive Drowned in screaming tracers when I drop, brakes And tail paint all the migs around me, Jesus, I Missed those fucking Christmas trees by inches, spilled Communists and jet fuel on the ground. My supersonic jet it makes no sound. My supersonic jet it makes no sound. My supersonic jet it makes no sound. My supersonic jet it makes no sound.