Falling asleep on the pavement
I think of all the seamstresses I’ve met
The barmen that I’ve talked to
The fishermen waving to me from the ocean

It occurs that there are stars
Mingling in the minds of my memories
And the distance between my friends
Wandering the silent world

Rusted and littered the sidewalks
We still kicked the cans and laughed
Hustling through the burns of the wave
Making it through the day

Lying on the gravel, I
See the trains of the passers-by
Rushing to their stations, adjourning
Riveting to another impression

The inference of question, treason
There was no need for us to speak
Because it haunted always from within
And we knew it and we threw it as such

Dying on the ground, I know
The reaches of the dusty universe
The follies of the ground of man
Circling in the woods again.