He hates the desk, that is grotesqueWith all its documents and lists and the screenOutside the sun, he wants to run away to face the dayWithout destroying his wayHurry up! Don't dare to stop!Something inside him screamsIt's creeping in, it's sweating outThe fear of flying, the fear of dying, a roundaboutIt's time to decide, to choose the question mark or to hideFrom the fire still burning insideOn the radio, 'though the level's low, he hears The StonesSee how I'm flying it's the call for lifeJust pretend your wings are stronger than all the thingsThat put you down and start your cryingShe's through the door of the seventh floorHer naked body lies dead on the groundTears in his eyes asking for the wherefores and the why'sAnd searching for the pure or at least the niceNot only on the radio, don't keep the level low, we receive the callSee how I'm flying it's the call for lifeJust pretend your wings are stronger than all the thingsThat put you down and start your cryingSee how I'm sailing in the eye of the stormLeave your fears behind or soon you'll be blindFor the miracle called Life