Surf

I flew to Phoenix
I flew back out
Over the mountains
Down in the south
We would stop often
Shuffle about
Crowded in a room
Smoke in the mouth

Met me with bracelets
Met me with chains
There on the tarmac
My main complaint
My perfect record
Covered with stains
Bleeding on through each
New coat of paint

Man without freedom
I flew no more
I was locked down tight
Man in a fort
My final sortie
I flew to shore
Not my best flying
I came up short