[Intro — tape hiss, analog clicks and relay ticks only, no drums, distant radio static] (Baumgartner. Oxygen green, cabin at altitude.) (Visor heater's out — you'll be flying blind.) (Felix. I stood where you're standing. 1960. Kittinger.) (Guardian angel on the ground. Your call.) [Verse 1 — hushed fragile falsetto, close-miked and dry, sparse fingerpicked guitar, no drums] Twenty-four miles and a door that opens out Nobody told me that the sky turns black They sealed me in a shell to keep me breathing and the shell is the only thing I fear Small hands, small breath, small room the whole earth leaning back [Pre — spoken, low and dry, radio texture] (Step off the rail when you're ready, son) (I've got you. I've always had you.) [Chorus — low distorted roar swell rises underneath, wide cold reverb, still no drums] There's no air up here to carry me I went faster than sound and nothing made a sound Black above, the curve below eight million eyes and the world holding its breath I'm coming home I'm coming home [Verse 2 — clicks multiply into fast ticking detail, tempo unchanged, vocal stays quiet] Four minutes twenty and I cannot feel the fall No wind, no rush, no bottom, and no rope The spin takes me — arms out, find the axis you don't get to black out here The fog comes up inside the glass and I go down by faith [Pre — spoken, roar thickens] (Talk to me, Felix) (Talk to me) [Chorus — roar at its heaviest, voice almost buried, no percussion] There's no air up here to carry me I went faster than sound and nothing made a sound Black above, the curve below one old man's voice in a helmet full of frost I'm coming home I'm coming home [Bridge — THE AIR RETURNS: soft muffled kick and low tom enter for the first time, low velocity, no cymbals] For the glove that failed in 'sixty and the hand he never showed For the visor and the fog and the axis and the cold For every man who stepped off and did not land — I land I land for you [Final Chorus — drums holding, never driving, everything wide and warm] There's no air up here to carry me so let the silence be the sound I make Black above, the desert coming up Sometimes you have to go this high to know how small you are [Outro — drums drop away, clicks and tape stop, raw weathered voice alone] Knees in the sand, arms open, nothing broken (Copy. Welcome home.) Music from the space between the worlds
