Lines Across the Blue (New Age Purposefull)

+ Show full styles

V5.5

Verse 2:
They point up at the contrails and they say “that ain’t steam”
A normal plane don’t leave a line that long across the seam
It hangs there for an hour — water vapor don’t do that
There’s something in the fuel and that’s a fact

Verse 3:
They’ve got the documents and whistle blowers, some retired man
Who says he worked the program, says he saw the plan
They’ve got Facebook groups and forums, got conference calls at night
Got petitions for the government to stop chem-filled flight

Chorus 1:
But ice crystals form at altitude when jet exhaust meets cold dry air
It’s been called a contrail since the forties and it’s documented there
The lines that spread and linger mean humidity is high
The ones that vanish quickly mean the air up there is dry

Verse 4:
They say it’s population control, or weather modification
Or softening our immune response to prep us for sedation
A hundred thousand pilots and a million maintenance crews
All keeping quiet, every one — that’s quite a lot to accuse

Verse 5:
They looked up and didn’t know the science of the sky
And not-knowing felt like proof that someone had to lie
So they filled the gap with malice and they filled the gap with dread
And called the condensation poison overhead

Chorus 2:
The sky is not a secret and the exhaust is not a scheme
Combustion plus cold air plus time makes exactly what they’ve seen
But “jet engine thermodynamics” doesn’t fit inside a meme
So they went with “they’re all spraying us” — a simpler kind of dream

Bridge:
They feel like someone’s pulling levers out of sight
And the world feels crooked and it’s hard to sleep at night
But they’ve moved from healthy skepticism to a place beyond the pale
Where science is the enemy and clouds become the trail
Of something dark they need there — something large, something tall
Because a random jet on a humid day doesn’t feel like much at all

Chorus 3:
The lines across the blue are ice, not malice, not design
Just physics doing physics at thirty-five thousand in a line
But that’s a harder thing to carry than the poison overhead
So the contrails turned to chemtrails
And the doubt turned into dread

2374/7500

Verse 1: They’re painting up the sky again, long white lines across the blue Been going on for decades now, and nobody’s telling you Barium and strontium and aluminum they say Sprayed on all the little towns by planes that pass all day Verse 2: They point up at the contrails and they say “that ain’t steam” A normal plane don’t leave a line that long across the seam It hangs there for an hour — water vapor don’t do that There’s something in the fuel and that’s a fact Verse 3: They’ve got the documents and whistle blowers, some retired man Who says he worked the program, says he saw the plan They’ve got Facebook groups and forums, got conference calls at night Got petitions for the government to stop chem-filled flight Chorus 1: But ice crystals form at altitude when jet exhaust meets cold dry air It’s been called a contrail since the forties and it’s documented there The lines that spread and linger mean humidity is high The ones that vanish quickly mean the air up there is dry Verse 4: They say it’s population control, or weather modification Or softening our immune response to prep us for sedation A hundred thousand pilots and a million maintenance crews All keeping quiet, every one — that’s quite a lot to accuse Verse 5: They looked up and didn’t know the science of the sky And not-knowing felt like proof that someone had to lie So they filled the gap with malice and they filled the gap with dread And called the condensation poison overhead Chorus 2: The sky is not a secret and the exhaust is not a scheme Combustion plus cold air plus time makes exactly what they’ve seen But “jet engine thermodynamics” doesn’t fit inside a meme So they went with “they’re all spraying us” — a simpler kind of dream Bridge: They feel like someone’s pulling levers out of sight And the world feels crooked and it’s hard to sleep at night But they’ve moved from healthy skepticism to a place beyond the pale Where science is the enemy and clouds become the trail Of something dark they need there — something large, something tall Because a random jet on a humid day doesn’t feel like much at all Chorus 3: The lines across the blue are ice, not malice, not design Just physics doing physics at thirty-five thousand in a line But that’s a harder thing to carry than the poison overhead So the contrails turned to chemtrails And the doubt turned into dread

0/500