| Invisible physicians, lawyers, and magicians.
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| An instant of existence at the table in the kitchen.
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| A flood-lit, floating highway,
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| Headlights slicing up a pathway into the driveway.
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| Drop me a line when you finally arrive on the runway.
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| Southbound train-track traveler
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| Add another film roll, quick, into the camera.
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| Grey lake paint-stained body of water
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| To the left of the runway.
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| (Drop me a line when you finally arrive on the runway.)
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| I got lost in Egypt,
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| Wandering around the figurines a hieroglyphics.
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| Paintings on the ceilings,
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| Colorful in contrast to the sandy statuettes.
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| I read the book of the dead backwards
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| And then I made my way to someone with a name-tag
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| For directions to a staircase.
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| I climbed a flight an realized the century had shifted,
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| I was awe-struck, gaping at the walls
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| I floated through the marble halls
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| Like some dis-jointed memory thrown across the room.
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| (From) back when I pumped gas, red shirt, black pants.
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| Drinking in the bathroom, heading for a heart-attack.
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| Never looking up from the sidewalk,
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| High-tops pounding out a beat in the pavement
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| (they went)
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| Yes, I’m a little bit wasted.
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| Just like a six-string, I sing only when I’m pressured
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| Or when I’m alone with a rhythm and a reason.
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| Heading for the season of the winter coat,
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| Heartbeat heavy as a suicide note.
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| Yes, I’m a little bit wasted;
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| Nevermind, I’m fine, walking in a straight line,
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| Trying out my voice for the first time.
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| Grey lake, paint-stained body of water
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| To the left of the runway.
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| Drop me a line when you finally arrive on the runway. |