Aislinn the Bard

Out in the morning sun he flew,
Across a bright'ning sky.
In his mighty warbird, ah,
How he loved to fly!
Green country passed below him,
And a friend flew on his right.
No thought of death betrayed him
As his target came in sight.

Though he hated the death his flying brought
He'd been through it all before.
This rugged fighter pilot
Was a veteran of two wars.
When the target centered in his sight
He set his payload free.
And then without a backward look
The pilot turned to flee.

But he'd flown low, and flaming thunder
Shook him as he flew.
He fought to regain his altitude;
He knew nothing else to do.
But the plane caught fire and spun like hell
And he knew his death was near.
And in desperate disillusionment
He called out for all to hear.

"Cursed be the gods who made me fly
And brought me to my end!
Make me now what you want me to be
But I will never fly again.
Fill my heart with music,
And give me a tale to tell.
But next time round don't make me die
Alone in a fiery hell!"

At his death vision's glowing end
A soft voice made reply,
"We'll do with you as you've asked us to
But you will always long to fly."
They placed him in an infant's mind,
In a body without sight.
In an infant's bed, the pilot woke
To face an endless night.

You ask me how I know this tale;
It's written in my song.
On nightmare's wings it's haunted me
For near my whole life long.
I believe the pilot's soul is mind
And his spirit is my right.
And though I may sing my songs with joy,
I will always long for flight.