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Down the Lane and Far Away
Elway
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I sit awash in recorded TV static on the internet
A vulgar, cheap facsimile
I bend my ear to the cosmic radiation through the firmament
And I don't come up with anything
But I could swear I almost hear it sometimes
My impediments metastasized
In a sound that lingers on alone
Like heaven's dial tone
I can't return the call
If nothing's there at all
I'm feeling sick from the yellow light of stardust as it plummets down
Filtered through the atmosphere
If not for us, maybe it would shimmer softly on the piรฑon boughs
Darkened in the desert air
It will wander on and we forever stay
Down the lane and far away
We don't have long, so I won't get too sentimental
Maybe Hell is what we're meant for if there ever was a thing
But with what's left, we can rob these fuckers blind
We can loot the midnight sky and make the static finally sing
Or trumpet in the end of everything, yeah!
ย
We don't have long, so I won't get too sentimental
Maybe Hell is what we're meant for if there ever was a thing
But with what's left, we can rob these fuckers blind
We can loot the midnight sky and make the static finally sing
Or trumpet in the end of everything
ย