Viking - 9:02 on Flight 182 lyrics

A one eighty-two, Lindbergh tower Traffic twelve o'clock - one mile, a Cessna Okay we had it there a minute ago One eighty-two, roger I think he's pa**ed off to our right How far you gonna to take your downwind one eighty-two? Company traffic is waiting for departure Probably about three to four miles Okay PSA one eighty-two, cleared to land One eighty-two's cleared to land Tower, we're going down, this is PSA Okay, we'll call the equipment for ya It is September twenty-fifth of nineteen seventy eight Though just eleven years old, I won't forget the date Can't forget the date Just an American morning, I'm a kid in cla** Suddenly and horribly, a ma**ive crash To the windows every one of us, we jump and run - we jump and run And witness the disaster that has just begun - has just begun A little Cessna we see falling - like a leaf it's spinning 'round And a 727's streaking right to the ground The pa**enger jet is spewing fire and smoke Not a single soul aboard believes there's any hope Not a single hope 45 degrees downward, and 50 to the right The plane is headed toward the earth at the speed of flight Not a few seconds have happened since horizon ate the plane I see a mushroom cloud arise, the black smoke signals pain Just a mile away in the direction of my home If it landed on my house or not is one of the unknowns 144 people have just died where I live At 9:02 on Flight 182 When a 727 and a 172 Managed to miss each other's field of view A hot day has turned to hell A horror I can't unsee Forever in my memory Major - a ma**ive scale Disaster - has come to me The landing ends in tragedy Superman was screaming when he lost his head Not until he hit the car was he finally dead Another man found in a kitchen still buckled in But most are mutilated beyond recognition As if a butcher shop exploded all that it could Human flesh and organs strewn about the neighborhood Ten thousand three hundred, the body parts that were ripped Every one of them was bagged and tagged, zipped and shipped Then the spattered blood on stuccoed homes turned brown that afternoon And flesh and clothing in the trees remained past evening's moon Though now more than three decades past the friendly skies aflame The impact on my outlook formed the man that I became 144 people had died where I lived At 9:02 on Flight 182 When a 727 and a 172 Managed to miss each other's field of view Wreckage of the Cessna landed just down the street From where I lived there on Polk Avenue 500 yards away the carnage of unspeakable gore Left my mind forever twisted askew