FLYING WEST

from a book titled Tall Tail Tales and credited to Captain Michael Larkin, TWA





I hope there’s a place way up in the sky

Where pilot’s can go when they have to die

A place where a guy could buy a cold beer

For a friend and a comrade whose memory is dear

A place where no doctor or lawyer could tread

Nor a management type would e’re be caught dead

Just a quaint little place; kind of dark, full of smoke

Where they like to sing loud and have a good joke

The kind of a place where a lady could go

And feel safe and protected by men she would know

There must be a place where old pilots go

When their wings get too weary and their airspeed gets low

Where the whiskey is old and the women are young

And the songs about flying and dying are sung

Where you’d see all the fellows who’d flown west before

And they’d call out your name as you came through the door

Who would buy you a drink if your thirst should be bad

And relate to each other “he was quite a good lad”

And then through the mist, you’d spot an old guy

You had not seen in years though he’d taught you to fly

He’d nod his old head with a grin ear to ear

And say “Welcome my son, I’m pleased that you’re here!”

For this is a place where true flyers come

When the battles are over, and the wars have been won

They’ve come here at last to be safe and afar

From the government clerk and the management czar

Politicians and lawyers, the Feds and the noise

Where the hours are happy and these good old boys

Can relax with a cool one, and well deserved rest

This is heaven my son, you’ve passed your last test.