If we're talking the first step

Just a mere formality

That little dance we do

I'm talking the method for circling the county

Like the crows did

It's an open field where that scarecrow is

It's a mirror doubling as somewhere to put those film reels in

I feed the mustang with my palm flat

A bit more grass has it moving spectacular

Behind the barn a Buick Roadmaster on a few cinder blocks

If I had the choice we'd measure everything by hands

But like everything else, I do not

That little dance we do

Chasing how a word gathers descriptions

Some guy I just met points to his palm when he says where he's living

We got something for all this

I feed it a little gas and it finally starts kicking

I feed it a little gas and it finally starts kicking

They said, "Build it so it stays standing when you're not in it"

Now my raft floating off in the distance

Everything you own will go missing

Laying down in the middle of the pitch

Covered in Cheetos trying to feed a few pigeons

I got nothing against giving up

Hands tied behind my back

The future you's renting a cottage out the Finger Lakes

For a few hours to relax

All my stories begin lying in the grass

They all end at the same point with the driftwood coming back

Under my four fingers is the map

All at once you awake

A field recording of a conversation you once had

While your childhood friend painted stars on your face