He folds up his socks and his underwear,
Puts them in the suitcase with so much care.
Closes up the latch with a final click,
Turns his back and walks before the clock can tick.

And she is sitting there crying through her long, brown hair.
Now suddenly, she’s standing, kicking back her chair.
She’s screaming, “Captain, turn your airship ‘round!
Reverse the motion of the ground!
Captain, turn your airship ‘round!”

Berlin to New York, 1937.
Hydrogen-inflated and aloft in heaven.
Everybody drinking, so unaware.
Suddenly, he thinks about her long, brown hair

And now, he’s running down the aisle to the wheelhouse door.
Pounding and a-pounding ‘till his knuckles are sore,
He’s screaming, “Captain, turn this airship ‘round!
Reverse the motion of the ground!
Captain, turn this airship "‘round!”