A flatlands' moon and an all-night drive.
Run away with me to a place of forgetting, a place of forgiving, a theory about beauty with the top down as soon as the sun sets behind that far-away line.
And I'll play some bluegrass with the speakers up loud and the wind can sing along with me and with you off-key and the wind won't care that I forgot the words to this song I never heard before.
I had this dream, this idea, a flash of something and all I remember is the shaman in the grass and he talked to me about your smile -
said you were coming back as a cat your next time around, and that you'd already used up three lives.
Two on the railroad tracks (jumping on the cars and jumping away from a place long gone) and that one you traded me for a joint and a breezy afternoon.
With that smile of yours, it's no surprise.
You'll be the cat in the back alley with the matted-up hair and a lean, hungry look in your eye (your good eye anyway). But you'll find a way to eat each night - that crazy lady who closes up the restaurant that's never full, she just can't resist your wagging tail. You always had a way of making women swoon. With that tail of yours.
This can't be our stop here, this roadside store with a blinking light bulb and a closed sign on a dirty door - but I'll follow you 'round back and we can lean up against that cold stone wall because it's still warmer than the air whipping through the nothingness on the road, where trees never stood.
And we'll make a lifetime's worth of happiness in the next five minutes, and we'll get back on the road.
When you've run out of relevancy and you can't talk about joy anymore because you're too busy being in it, you should follow that moon, son. An all-night drive.
Run away with me to a place of forgetting, a place of forgiving, a theory about beauty with the top down as soon as the sun sets behind that far-away line.
And I'll play some bluegrass with the speakers up loud and the wind can sing along with me and with you off-key and the wind won't care that I forgot the words to this song I never heard before.
I had this dream, this idea, a flash of something and all I remember is the shaman in the grass and he talked to me about your smile -
said you were coming back as a cat your next time around, and that you'd already used up three lives.
Two on the railroad tracks (jumping on the cars and jumping away from a place long gone) and that one you traded me for a joint and a breezy afternoon.
With that smile of yours, it's no surprise.
You'll be the cat in the back alley with the matted-up hair and a lean, hungry look in your eye (your good eye anyway). But you'll find a way to eat each night - that crazy lady who closes up the restaurant that's never full, she just can't resist your wagging tail. You always had a way of making women swoon. With that tail of yours.
This can't be our stop here, this roadside store with a blinking light bulb and a closed sign on a dirty door - but I'll follow you 'round back and we can lean up against that cold stone wall because it's still warmer than the air whipping through the nothingness on the road, where trees never stood.
And we'll make a lifetime's worth of happiness in the next five minutes, and we'll get back on the road.
When you've run out of relevancy and you can't talk about joy anymore because you're too busy being in it, you should follow that moon, son. An all-night drive.
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