Oppressive boredom and dislocation

I don't belong here and I have nothing to do

So I'll be what I am

Fly on an excursion lyrical

While I wait for

What I ain't for

To bust its shell and come after me

And then I'll have some kind of an excuse

Hello, Ireland

I'm coming to you now

I'll see my old man again someday

But the plane leaves tonight

And there aren't any runways in Heaven

So now I seek the peace you brought

The Archangel's Daughter

That's how I'll always perceive you

Esoteric transcendence

And I want to reach you

So I feel dislocated

While I'm grounded

We neither of us have wings to fly

At least, not of our own

So we discover someone else's

I know where my highs come from

Snow-borne flight

Where do you find your wings?

Or are you held aloft

Simply by the angelic blood running through your veins?