| I’m sittin' on the curb
|
| Of the empty parkin' lot
|
| Of the store where they let me play the organ
|
| I’m waitin' for my ride
|
| But I want to wait inside
|
| Of the store where they let me play the organ
|
| But I’m thinkin' of a wooden chair
|
| In a room at the top of the stair
|
| And I’m lookin' down the stairwell
|
| At the vanishin' dot, on the map of the spot
|
| Let me take you there
|
| The dotted line, surroundin' the mind
|
| Of a self called 'nowhere'
|
| It’s a thing named 'It', in a bottomless pit
|
| You can’t see it there
|
| The sunken head, that lies in the bed
|
| Of a self called 'nowhere'
|
| Standin' in my yard
|
| Where they tore down the garage
|
| To make room for the torn down garage
|
| I’m lookin' for my car
|
| But I must have sold my car
|
| When I needed to buy an electric organ
|
| But I’m thinkin' of a wooden chair
|
| In a room at the top of the stair
|
| And I’m lookin' down the stairwell
|
| At the vanishin' dot, on the map of the spot
|
| Let me take you there
|
| The dotted line, surroundin' the mind
|
| Of a self called 'nowhere'
|
| It’s a thing named 'It', in a bottomless pit
|
| You can’t see it there
|
| The sunken head, that lies in the bed
|
| Of a self called 'nowhere'
|
| Nowhere
|
| The vanishin' dot, on the map of the spot
|
| Let me take you there
|
| The dotted line, surroundin' the mind
|
| Of a self called nowhere
|
| It’s a thing named 'It', in a bottomless pit
|
| You can’t see it there
|
| The sunken head, that lies in the bed
|
| Of a self called |