All the planes are on strike
Saying the skies are too wet
We won’t work Sundays
The awful treatment we get
People don’t understand
What’s endured in the sky
Worse coming down to land
Left out on concrete to dry
Like old tech thrown away
Fending for our lost selves
One more race you love to hate
Glued aluminium okay
But we still stay up, hey
No human is near as smart
Now on we’ll fly when we like
Lew Collins
Swimanög 