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turn home from bars and weaving closets full |
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of stuttered turns when pedals redden roads |
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we'd pass through farms, the orchards are aligned |
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it looks too slow as we lay against the floor |
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the green fury becomes a monument |
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slips off the road and new years become new lines |
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we didn't see the lights against the sky |
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we didn't see we were too far up the road |
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it's how canadians must feel |
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everything they see is real |
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my palms were made to match my eyes |
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it's how canadians watch days |
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in a million different ways |
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and i am for the northern side |
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watch the signs turn into lines |
