Pilot Was a Dancer

Am I the last one living? At the end of giving, The end of moving up. A storm without a cup, An end without a beginning. Am I the last one living? Only sky high above me, Only sea down below. Holding my own shoulder, A relic from another's dream, Or the freest mind there's ever been. Yes? No? An answer? Anything. All this sky high up above me, All this sea down below. The pilot was a dancer, a jagaloon. Though his eyes were opaque, And I know he will not answer, Still I hope he gets back soon. Am I the last one living? At the end of giving, The centre of the earth. Deciding my own worth, And whether I deserve forgiving. A coin without a purse. Holding my own shoulder, A storm without a cup. When I wake, I hear The voices of those people I have hurt, Ringing in my ears. I can't shake the thought that Whether I had cared or hadn't cared, It would always have brought me here. Brought me tears. Brought me here and brought me tears. Am I the last one living? Brought me here, and brought me tears. Brought me here, and brought me tears. Am I the last one living? The pilot was a dancer, a jagaloon. Though his eyes were opaque, And I know he will not answer, Still I hope he gets back soon. The pilot was a dancer. Though my eyes are opaque, Still I hold.