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I'm sitting on the curb |
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By the empty parking lot |
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Of the store where they let me play the organ |
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I'm waiting for my ride |
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But i want to wait inside |
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Of the store where they let me play the organ |
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But i'm thinking of a wooden chair |
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In a room at the top of a stair |
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And i'm looking down the stairwell |
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At the vanishing dot |
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On the map of the spot |
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Let me take you there |
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The dotted line |
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Surrounding the mind |
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Of a self called nowhere |
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It's a thing named 'it' |
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In a bottomless pit |
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You can't see it there |
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The sunken head |
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That lies in the bed |
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Of a self called nowhere |
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Standing in my yard |
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Where they tore down the garage |
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To make room for the torn down garage |
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I'm looking for my car |
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But i must have sold my car |
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When i needed to buy an electric organ |
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But i'm thinking of a wooden chair |
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In a room at the top of a stair |
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And i'm looking down the stairwell |
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At the vanishing dot |
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On the map of the spot |
|
Let me take you there |
|
The dotted line |
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Surrounding the mind |
|
Of a self called nowhere |
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It's a thing named 'it' |
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In a bottomless pit |
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You can't see it there |
|
The sunken head |
|
That lies in the bed |
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Of a self called nowhere |
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Nowhere |
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The vanishing dot |
|
On the map of the spot |
|
Let me take you there |
|
The dotted line |
|
Surrounding the mind |
|
Of a self called nowhere |
|
It's a thing named 'it' |
|
In a bottomless pit |
|
You can't see it there |
|
The sunken head |
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That lies in the bed |
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Of a self called |
