When I got back home I found a message on the door
Sweet Regina's gone to China crosslegged on the floor
Of a burning jet that's smoothly flying
Burning airlines give you so much more


How does she intend to live when she's in far Cathay
I somehow can't imagine her just planting rice all day
Maybe she will do a bit of spying
With microcameras hidden in her hair


I guess Regina's on a plane a Newsweek on her knees
While miles below the curlews call from strangely stunted trees
The painted sage sits just as though he's flying
Regina's jet disturbs his wispy beard.

To be continued...