On the last step there's a notice that points out that time is slipping by, it all depends on where you are or if the light is ripping you and did you ever notice that a notice never sees you and the ocean falls beneath me as I take my first steps forward where the compass reading takes me to another chapter pointing me back home.

Fortune tastes like silver in your hair when there is moonlight and your fame was spread like marmalade on billboards so they bought you and you ended up in Calgary where wise men sought your company but each man stands against the walls when winds whip up and gather in the last of winter harvests and the ears of corn are pulling me back home.

In a minute which is nothing and a minute then that tells it where's the truth that we were promised, where's the hope that we were given, is the compass flying blindly, are the wills of gods against us, if the last step's the beginning, tell me where did we end up then when we started on the way here from back home?