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Invisible physicians, lawyers, and magicians.
An instant of existence at the table in the kitchen.
A flood-lit, floating highway,
Headlights slicing up a pathway into the driveway.
Drop me a line when you finally arrive on the runway

Southbound train-track traveler
Add another film roll, quick, into the camera.

Grey lake paint-stained body of water
To the left of the runway.
(Drop me a line when you finally arrive on the runway)

I got lost in Egypt,
Wandering around the figurines a hieroglyphics.
Paintings on the ceilings,
Colorful in contrast to the sandy statuettes.
I read the book of the dead backwards
And then I made my way to someone with a name-tag
For directions to a staircase.
I climbed a flight an realized the century had shifted,
I was awe-struck, gaping at the walls
I floated through the marble halls
Like some dis-jointed memory thrown across the room.

(From) back when I pumped gas, red shirt, black pants.
Drinking in the bathroom, heading for a heart-attack.
Never looking up from the sidewalk,
High-tops pounding out a beat in the pavement
(they went)
Yes, I'm a little bit wasted.
Just like a six-string, I sing only when I'm pressured
Or when I'm alone with a rhythm and a reason.
Heading for the season of the winter coat,
Heartbeat heavy as a suicide note.
Yes, I'm a little bit wasted;
Nevermind, I'm fine, walking in a straight line,
Trying out my voice for the first time.

Grey lake, paint-stained body of water
To the left of the runway.
Drop me a line when you finally arrive on the runway

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