O Peggy, my Peggy, so heady—gentle Peg! She travels, unravels, then babbles—is she dead?
She's flying, she's crying, she's whining—breaking down!
She's wary, it's scary, is this plane... making sounds?
It's dirty, she's hurting, observing—with a frown!
Her seat was once used by a man that was brown.
There aren't really a lot of nice things about flying. It's scary, germy, full of delays. They don't clean the planes as they once did—the tray is not clean and as you open it and see the coke and coffee marks, you wonder if it was used on the last flight by a Senegalese tourist with typhus.