sometimes i wonder why
he's never been under my thumb.
street lights settle down low,
i hold on to what i know
until the dawn comes.
i know it aint a lot like talking.
now i can't follow
but i know he was an honest man.
on the desert we travel by day
sand has covered away wind blown things.
and hoards move to conquer it all
but some still take pleasure in small,
unknown things.
i heard about it in a letter.
i should have known,
good things lead to things better.
the space between here and the light
cast out into the night into my room.
it shines to the clock on my wall
as i begin to fall into the vacuum