Из альбома: You Are a Vulture
I went to Memphis. I rode the trolleys.
I found myself roaming halls of tacky royalty beings.
I sent a postcard with empty pictures of life,
Does it make you feel like you're here? I dunno, you tell me.
I saw the landscapes: the sky escaping.
Outlines of people in homes putting their TV's to bed.
The strobing highway lamps reflect in the glass
My evil counterpart who smiles from parallel planes.
I am the backseat in a drive thru lane.
This is completion in form of a neon sign.
This is a lack of understanding people and how one knows I'm foreign to their kind.
I went to Memphis, met the Egyptians.
I took a photograph of alien hands throwing stones.
Words in your mailbox: "Greetings from far away."
I'm not a raconteur but this is an anecdote.
I want to throw my things into a hot, hot, hot furnace.
We are the maps that say we know where you are but deceive.
I've been away for so very long.
I've been away for so very long, I'm not me.