C Songtext / Lyric

Scene from a highway in the desert,

I let the car drift some,

Eye your uncomfortable pose and profile,

The postures of long drives.

Shifting numb and sore parts

When you can no longer sit them.

Foot on the dash, foot on the dash,

X hours or so from some somewhere now,

Only half aware when I change lanes half accidentally

Vision fixed in the distance, identifying wildflowers

And then I almost touch your leg,

But something stays me.

The economy of love and close quarters,

A learned thing.

In contrast I am marked quietly alone.

Of the small rented spaces we have slept in,

Tents even sometimes,

In this tiny capsule.

But hurtling uncertain into the inferno of forever of here.

Which it does to me, the desert.

It has effect, makes me mark things needlessly.

In the immensity of an even breath is all I guess,

Overamplifying,

Overconnecting,

Makes me see all small simplicities

Significant, Substancial,

Makes me seek out symbolism

Search in the symmetry for some lost stigmas of the self.

These words that hiss and makes snake sounds

But it feels holy almost, though I dont say so.

A native sense, but not skeletons and headdresses.

No projections found in

Thunder clouds shaped by soundless lightning

It is an extra sense

A kind of costal thing

Unnamable and great

An immortal unknowing

Sacred in ancestry but really will only be felt here when the sun falls

What we felt here and now

Would be that otherworldly haunts

of coming dusk descending from immeasurable spaces

To more measurable spaces

and each and endless desert sprawl anarchic forever

Interupted only by this highway to the west

Some wound may be are abandoned depending on how you look at it

Or maybe just what must marry the two vast expanses

A mirror reflecting both sides

Or a path more than anything

But who cares what.

A bridge through the history

of a place where a watch doesnt work

A guide through wider spaces than the baggage of unclaimed except in concrete

A place only unclaimed

except in one day, Sunday,

You and I, for us.

Where we get to the route is where we are going

Then you speak one in the love

Single landmark

In memorial now,

And the landscape that always passes but never passes,

Does finally.

And we see time again

For remember the mirror pointing backwards

All of the sudden watching the paintbrush shrinking at last light.

And then I think again to touch your leg,

But something stays me,

Some voice, yours and mine, combined,

And the rain that comes sang quiet

First and then just sit

So I crack my window just so,

And almost close my eyes and almost let go of the steering wheel, but don't.

It feels impossible to crash the car while we're in it.