| Speed river at my feet running low and flat
|
| I’m sitting here burning daylight
|
| Thinking about the past
|
| And that distance out there
|
| Where the earth meets the sky
|
| The slightest move and this river mud
|
| Pulls me further down
|
| John’s at my side, but he’s sitting on firmer ground
|
| John says I look at the moon and the stars
|
| These days more often than I look into his eyes
|
| And I can’t disagree so I don’t say nothing
|
| I just stare on past his face at Venus rising
|
| Like a shining speck of hope hanging over the horizon
|
| With each passing year that I sit here
|
| That horizon seems to inch just that much nearer
|
| And all that appears on it seems as clear as spit
|
| But if there’s on thing in my life
|
| That these years have taught
|
| It’s that you can always see it coming
|
| But you can never stop it
|
| Speed river at my feet running low and flat
|
| I’m sitting here burning daylight
|
| Thinking about the past
|
| And that distance out there
|
| Where the earth meets the sky
|
| The slightest move and this river mud
|
| Pulls me further down
|
| John’s at my side
|
| But he’s not noticing that I’m drowning
|
| The slightest move and this river mud
|
| Pulls me further down
|
| John’s at my side
|
| But he’s not noticing that I’m drowning |