I'd say life's a different story when you're facing certain death.
I wonder, "Did they kick back when they knew the game was up?"
Static on the radio ain't no soundtrack for this end;
Stick on a bit of Wagner, and we'll go down.
Let's see if we skim.

Maybe there's no time for grand exits and pause;
Twisting of propellers chopping at the froth.
And as she turned to Fred, she saw the fear in his eyes.
And whatever was between them was heavy in the last word he said:

Amelia

Or, maybe they went on to grow oranges and pears
On their own island, Amelia and Fred.
She'd dance for him in the evenings as the red sun fell.
He'd sit there smiling up at her thinking, "This is just swell.
Take me now."

Some say she resurfaced as a Tokyo Rose;
Talking on the radio, telling sweet lies.
But remember when the farmer asked, "Have you flown far?"
She just smiled back at him and said, "I've come from America."

Amelia

Time has cast its shadow; the story lost its legs.
Our favourite missing person still rears her head;
Not on a milk carton, just some bones on a beach
That just might be a tall white girl called Amelia.

It's just like flying...