45*21

I was distilled in the rain
transformed in a toll booth
my head got kind of damaged
out there with the white horse
my hands were chapped beyond belief
I ask myself again and again
How'm I doin?
Like this truck that's facing south
the miserable thoughts come rifling back
again and again
until it feels like rain
I could tell she was wanting to amscray
make for the hills on that white horse
have a bath and shut the fuck up
watch the moth balls float out of the closet
which is now literally a water closet
close the blinds and light a number
get the tan behind the slumber
like some golden god released from jail
I can hear my mother saying "what's it all about"
1500 miles away from home without a bone