November 9th broke dark and cold
With winds and snow a blowin
Tommy walked to the door of his one room shack
Thinkin, there ain’t no way that I’ll be goin

Wrestling closed the door of the dispatch room
Barley keeping the storm at bay
Tommy said, Mommy Nature seems mad as hell
I guess there’s no flights today

Bob turned with a smile
And lay down his cup of jo
Tommy, he said, we have a business to run
Can’t cancel flights over a little snow

You’re a desk jockey Bob! And he spit the words
And you have no way of knowing
While you lay snuggled warm in bed
I’ll be out there where this beast is growin

There’s no way in hell I’m headin out there,
It’s a suicide flight and you know it
Bob said, Tom I like you son but if you don’t want the work
I’ve got six other guys that’ll go, don’t blow it

Tommy stormed to the plane swept the snow off the wings
And pointed the nose to the wind
The P210 disappeared in the grey
As it tore off the runways end

2:44 in the heart of the storm
Radar went eerily blank
2:45 Tommy fought the controls with all of his might
But the plane continued to bank

2:52 from a deep dark sleep Bob was uneasily Dreamin
He woke in a sweat
Like someone’s hand round his neck
And swore he could hear Tommy screamin

November 10h broke clear and cold.
The search craft lazily rising.