"Cleared for takeoff… runway mind."

Hand on the throttle, heart on time.

(Three, two…) V1, rotate.

Used to dream a 747—Kinderträume, left on the shelf,

Stencil wings on a notebook, runway drawn by my younger self.

Now there’s a hangar behind my eyes, turbines waking in the dark,

Every thought a beacon light, lining up a perfect arc.

I taxi through the head-noise, line up with the sky,

Bigger machine in my mind, and I don’t need a why.

She brings her little jet in—doors open wide,

Tried it once already—yeah, we passed the ride.

Fly—nose to the sunrise, let the floor fall out beneath,

Flaps set, hearts set, bite down on your teeth.

Fly—autopilot off, feel the thunder in the spine,

Write our names in contrails across the skyline.

Fly—meters into miles, minutes into flame,

We’re breaking every ceiling that remembered our name.

Fly—say goodbye to ground and gravity’s lie,

We don’t just run—we fly.

ATC in the bloodstream, tower calling out my code,

Cabin full of daydreams, heavy metal, overload.

Gauge needles dancing, pressure steady, clear and bright,

Every fear a cloud we punch right through tonight.

I used to watch from windows, forehead on the glass,

Counting lights like wishes, waiting for the pass.

Now her smaller wings touch down inside my headspace bay,

"Welcome to my runway." "Copy that." "We’re okay."

Fly—nose to the sunrise, let the floor fall out beneath,

Flaps set, hearts set, bite down on your teeth.

Fly—autopilot off, feel the thunder in the spine,

Write our names in contrails across the skyline.

Fly—meters into miles, minutes into flame,

We’re breaking every ceiling that remembered our name.

Fly—say goodbye to ground and gravity’s lie,

We don’t just run—we fly.

(Up) We climb.

(Hold) We shine.

(No brakes) This time.

(All engines) Align.

Cabin call: are you afraid of heights, or afraid of home?

Either way, the world looks small when you let go.

Mach in the marrow, lightning in the vein,

If love is the runway, then faith is the plane.

Strobes on.

Doors armed.

Hearts calm.

V2, we’re gone.

Fly—nose to the sunrise, past the map’s last line,

Turn the silence into thunder, turn the weight to design.

Fly—autopilot off, feel the cockpit of your soul,

Every limit is a ladder, every bruise turns gold.

Fly—meters into miles, minutes into flame,

We’re bigger than the borders of our old first name.

Fly—goodnight to the ground and gravity’s lie,

We don’t just run—we fly.

Used to want a 747—Kinderträume, unfulfilled.

Now I fly a bigger machine—right here, built.

She can land her little plane inside, doors wide, lights on—

We tried it, passed it. Wheels up. Dream on.