by Gordon Lightfoot [1,5]

In the early mornin' rain
With a dollar in my hand,
With an achin' in my heart
And my pockets full of sand,
I'm a long way from home,
And I miss my loved one so
In the early mornin' rain,
With no place to go.

Out on runway number nine
Big seven-o-seven set to go,
But I'm out here on the grass
Where the pavement never grows
Well, the liquor tasted good
And the women all were fast,
There she goes, my friends
She's a-rollin down at last

Hear the mighty engines roar,
See the silver wing on high,
She's away and westward bound
Far above the clouds she'll fly,
Where the mornin' rain don't fall
And the sun always shines,
She'll be flyin' o'er my home
In about three hours time.

This old airport's got me down,
It's no earthly good to me,
'Cause I'm stuck here on the ground
Cold and drunk as I might be.
Can't jump a plane,
Like a freight train,
So I'd best be on my way
In the early mornin' rain