The Pilot's Crucifixion / Indian Oil

The sun dries a wet flag
In the air
With mixed emotions
You see on our federal bulletin
A community of thick wiring
Ever so straight
Goes the path of an arrow
Straight through it
By whatever means anything
And never will
To the systems
Who giveth and taketh
In the closing times
For/to flesh reminders
About capsule hatching
Stiff drink memories
Make solid the previous conclusion
As to who’s driving this ship