Bright Eyes

So there is this woman and she was on an airplane, and she's flying to meet her fianc?, sailing high above the largest ocean on planet earth, and she was seated next to this man, who, you know, she had tried to start conversations, and only, really the only thing she did heard him say was to order his Bloody Mary. And she's sitting there, and she's reading this really arduous magazine article about this third world country, that she couldn't even pronounce the name of, and she's feeling very bored and very despondent, and then uh, suddenly, there's this huge mechanical failure and one of the engines gave up, and they started just falling in thirty thousand feet, and the pilot's on the microphone and he's saying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, oh my God, I'm sorry," apologizing and, and she looks at the man and she says, she says "where are we going?" and he looks at her, and he says, "we're going to a party, it's a birthday party. It's your birthday party, happy birthday darling. We love you very, very, very, very, very, very, VERY much." And then he starts humming this little tune and it kinda goes like this:
1-2, 1-2-3-4
We must talk in every telephone, get eaten off the web
We must rip out all the epilogues from the books that we have read
And to the face of every criminal strapped firmly in a chair
We must stare, we must stare, we must stare
We must take all of the medicines too expensive now to sell
Set fire to the preacher who is promising us hell
And in the ear of every anarchist, that sleeps but doesn't dream
We must sing, we must sing, we must sing
And it'll go like this:
While my mother waters plants, my father loads his gun
He says, "Death will give us back to God, just like the setting sun
is returned to the lonesome ocean"
And then they splashed into the deep blue sea
It was a wonderful splash