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Vedder, Ament |
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Routine was the theme. He'd wake up wash and pour himself into |
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uniform. |
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Something he hadn't imagined being. |
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As the merging traffic passed he found himself staring down at his own |
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hands. |
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Not remembering the change. Not recalling the plan. Was it? |
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He was okay but wondering about wandering. |
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Was it age by consequence or was he moved by sleight of hand? |
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Mondays were made to fall. Lost on a road he knew by heart. |
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It was like a book he read in his sleep. Endlessly. |
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Sometimes he hid in the radio watching other pull into their homes. |
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While he was drifting. |
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On a line of his own. Off the line of the side. Bye the by. |
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As dirt turned to sand. As if moved by sleight of hand. |
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When he reached the shore of his clip on world he resurfaced to the |
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norm. |
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Organized his few things. His coat and keys. |
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And he knew realizations would have to wait. |
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Till he had more time. More time. |
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A time to dream to himself. He waves goodbye to his self. |
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I'll see you on the other side. |
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Another man moved by slight of hand. |
