---

When last we spoke
I sang of end times
Of cities washed away
The bloodless halls
A flooded station
And that last train from L.A.

Well, three years have passed
And here I am in the waiting room
Delayed with all the restless.
Some sixty eyes fixed
Hard and fast on the TV
Playing something senseless.

Me, I dream of a broken watch
With hands like vines.

In the dream I see the
The sweep of centuries
I am a prehistoric bird.
And I wandered six lane
It would be generous to call them boulevards
With their dead-eyed metal herd.

I’ve come to peck the faces
All of the faces off of every clock
Then set myself to ponder
The golden shoals, the clouds
The rotting dock.

Can you hear the carnival rising
The brutal fairgrounds aglow?
Sunburned families laughing at
The toy gun game stall
Someone screaming below.

And I want to tell you
About November
The people that I met
And sleeping badly
On Pullman pallets
Blue blanket caked in sweat.

Cardiogram power lines
Heart of the department of the interior.
Glow-in-the-dark Casio
Breathing fast.

When last we spoke
I sang of end times
Of cities washed away
The bloodless halls
A flooded station
Could a train be an escape?

---

Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.