Plane-Mount Moriah

I fell for you in your attic Over the hum and grind of afternoon traffic We should be pleased to have shared the breeze or a bus Now you ask what was the fuss It was the tone of your letter And the fit of herringbone sweater You know it's true, I would sell this shelf full of records For a ride to your affection All these delays and transferred planes Oh I would number the days and time zone changes Another mountain range and I'm headed south again Back to the Blue Ridge and the red, red clay And I'd rather be resting in your arms Than this window seat Where everything's clear and warm In the stratosphere in these heated chairs Oh the thin, thin air I just wanna be down there