hatred
I hate the past
I canīt see anything at all, all I see is me
thatīs clear enough
and thatīs whats important, to see me
my eyes can focus
my brain is talking
looks pretty good to me
my headīs on straight, my girlfriendīs beautiful
looks pretty good to me
sometimes I speak
tonight thereīs nothing to say
sometimes we freak
and laugh all day
hold these pages up to the light
see the jacknife inside of the dream
a railroad runs through the record stores at night
coming in for the deep freeze
Mary: a simple word, are you there in the country?
Yr eyes so full, yr head so tight
canīt you hear me?
Remember our talk
that day on the phone?
I was the door, and you were the station
with shattered glass and miles between us
we still flew away in the conversation
my cup is full, and I feel okay
the world is dull, but not today
she thinkīs sheīs a goddess
she says she talks to the spirits
I wonder if she can talk to herself?
If she can bear to hear it?
this is Ericīs trip
weīve all come to watch him slip
heīs slipping all the way to Texas
can you dig it?
(Eric says "The sky is blue...")
I see with a glass eye
the pavement view
a shadow forming, across the fields rushing
thru me to you
we tore down the world, and put up four walls
I breathe in the myth
Iīm over the city, fucking the future
Iīm high and inside yr kiss
we canīt see clear
but what we see is a alright
we make up what we canīt hear
and then we sing all night
scattered pages and shattered lights
a jacknife and a dream
thereīs something moving over there on the right
like nothing Iīve never seen
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