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The bidding of time, getting stuck in my mind, |
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There's a boat to row. |
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Two hours later, back in my neighbourhood, |
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Where everythings just dull. |
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Still looks the same, they remember my name, |
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Stepping in for a cup full. |
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There's big city man, |
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I use to rumble with him, |
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Back in high school. |
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The slow cruel hands of time, |
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Turn you in to molten lava or mud. |
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The place on the ride, you can stop for awhile, |
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Look out for the policeman. |
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There's no street lamps, only three buildings, |
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And one of them's vacant. |
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It's taken all day, the packs feeling heavy, |
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And soon enough. |
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Backwards down the mountain, the axel is grinding, |
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Pull in to the wrong drive. |
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The sky is in the yard, |
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Street cotton candy in the fall. |
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Slow kind they're hard to fall, |
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Long times, |
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I don't want it at all. |
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I've done this so long, it's something |
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I ought to know. |
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So long.Finally up, all the pieces disrupted, and the birds fly. |
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Trapped for a moment, the |
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Sheriff's department, got the wrong guy. |
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The towns reveal below. |
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Visible wind, through the fog. |
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Slow cruel hands of time, |
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Turning you back into a child. |
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Matthew Sorge |
