Song
Length
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1
The Propellors 05:38

Description

Folk, Slow tempo, pretty, organic, warm, relaxed, light, major, building, bright, calming, carefree, quirky, curious, whimsical, Male vocals, acoustic guitar, snare brushes, Rhodes electric piano, drums, strings, organ, drums, glockenspiel, theremin, electric guitar, percussion, shaker

Lyrics

December seventeenth, nineteen-hundred three, propellors turned to wings. The age of air and hand, besides the bicycle man, set unknown fates to spin. Let high the waits spun round, let the engine sound. And show her skill take crowd. Lieutenant Selfridge cried, over maker flight. The hand's been open wide, and helped his life and flight. Got fate to wreck and land, tangling constantly. In bloodied coffins send, wherefore fills arm in sling, he dreamt of curious things. Of terrible flying machines with wings under their wings.

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