…and I think you’ll agree it’s fitting, given all the lunacy that’s literally flying around over Gringolocolandia:
It’s called “Maschine Brennt”, that is, “The Plane’s On Fire”. Here are the lyrics:
If it weren’t so bad, so incredibly sad,
you could laugh without end, no doubt.
I’d like to see anyone who still can laugh
when his pants are on fire. Yeah, yeah, check it out.
It’s not easy now to tell you where and how
but it happened to me just last year.
And if I were still living now,
I could tell you how it really was, so here:
We’re all aboard, first class already stowed,
And everybody’s on a comfort seat.
A madame with no mister spots me right away,
she says “Rap that to the beat!” So then
I soberly check out — without a hint of doubt —
if her nail polish color suits her hands;
it might’ve let me know the next step to go,
I could’ve made some other plans.
Or maybe not.
Whoa, stop, go back!
Hey, where’s my parachute?
Oh oh oh oh oh oh
(Oh oh oh)
Whoa, stop, hang on!
The last angel’s gone!
And that’s no wonder ’cause
The plane’s on fire!
Cap’n Air Rage, he’s charming to a fault,
what the steward tells him makes him mad,
but he avoids the stress, because the stewardess
says this as she takes him by his strong hand:
“I see it clear and true, the sky’s still nice and blue,
who knows how long this luck will hold out;
The only problem is for those with no parachute,
falling 11,000 metres out…”
It’s pretty damn apt, nicht wahr?