The trouble is calling me out, son It's working its way down our street Looks like everyone's getting theirs, fighting its way through our city The rumbling is growing deafening, we'll have to escape through our ceiling Maybe that was a dream My mind has been working me And I can't get any sleep So life becomes a perpetual dream The ground, it just swallowed me up I fell through the darkness and cold 'Saw a light grow beneath me, a city weathered and old The people were just living, believing their world had a ceiling Heading towards the sun, sweet little one Yeah, its about time You're finally making some wings, sweet little one Yeah, it's about time But you might find as you drift in closer To the sun, your wax wings will melt