Beneath the neon hub of downtown. The local hotel ghosts blow back around. Descend on those drugstore cowboy nights. Cling to the bar, then disappear from sight.
4 in the morning the sidewalk's asleep. Dogs on the porch,. Spiders on the leaf. Shipwrecked by night sailing through days. Nobody noticed the slipping away.
Beneath the neon hub of downtown. The local hotel ghosts blow back around. Descend on those drugstore cowboy nights. Cling to the bar, then disappear from sight.
Leave the heart of the city. For the hert of the world. Leave the heart of this city. Love the way her trust unfurls. . Follow her hand to the dark end of the street.
Someone's messing with the machines. They've been left out in the rain. Well it's strange to come back free of any rust. Dares you to explain. Could you speak a little more clearly on the line.
There's no one in this world for me. There's never gonna be. There's no one in this world needs me. There's never gonna be. Yet sometimes in my dreams I hear.
Washed my face in the rivers of empire,. made my bed from a cardboard crate,. down in the City of Quartz.. No news, no new regrets.. Tossed a Susan B. over my shoulder,.
It rained the whole day he spent at his lover's grave. Said his goodbyes to her family and friends. And packed his things in a rusted car. And rode off in the rain.
Started talking. to a couple of wedded strangers. sitting down on motorcycles. who passed on the highway. . stepped into. the service station. took a piss, got water.
Through the gardens and fields 'neath the tall green grass. You were walking 'neath the moon while covering your tracks. Working your fingers down to the skin and stone.
Is there anyway i can fix it. Take out my tools maybe smash with it. Let me destroy the parts that annoy. . Swallow the words i'm saving. Fumble the chords i'm playing.
Sonic Wind, honing in, on a tune that no one can hear. perfect pitch, simple glitch, promises it would never. appear. in the skies (disguised). . Change in direction where birds never fly nor roam.
Miles of highway poppies. A stretch of maybe flowers past Signal Hill away. We were parked and searching. For a hubcap rolling into the fields of thorn.
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There's a piano playing on the ocean floor between Havana and New Orleans. Drummin' a requiem for the dead and the souls hanging on every poet's prayer.
Along the coast shrouded by fog. A voice hovers so sweet and soft. The lure of lust no one can deny. A pile of bones hidden from sight. . To save this sad, lonesome cry.
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If you said let's go. If you said I'm sick of this place. I would listen to you. I wouldn't hesitate. And whether it's for a town. A godforsaken place.
On the outskirts of expansion, looking out from Blueprint peak. The flow is flooding of urban settlers panning through rivers running dry.. Numbers roll on in, smiling a lottery grin, a sadness blurs the eye....
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