And I'm shoeless in a truck stop again. Wandering and wondering where all this fucking sky had been. And the clouds, they cover nothing but their own tiny divides.
So I stick my left hand out the window, blow a fist at Sydney's stinking sky. And I said, "We said we'd never come back here, now we're never going home. Where the kids drink things they shouldn't and I sneak off to some room alone." You said, "My dear, I'm sorry." And I said, "My darling, what for?" Together we laughed at exchange rates, both of us so desperate for more.
And everything looks like a 1970's sunset through the window of the overnight cross-country train. You came home, we stayed indoors together we prayed for rain. Found something, vast and indescribable and warm amongst the noise of consumption, assumptions you were wrong. You'd gone and loved me all along.
And I never felt safer in the arms of a stranger than when we met.
But in these last few days I've found peace in your passenger seat. Cross-legged on his hardwood floor. Fighting and flying from thoughts. With a secret smile for the corner of the room. And my toothiest grin just for you. So desperate for more.