When last we spoke I sang of end times Of cities washed away The bloodless halls A flooded station And that last train from LA Well three years have passed And here I am in the waiting room Delayed with all the restless Some sixty eyes fixed Hard and fast on the TV Playing something senseless Me I dream of a broken watch With hands like vines In the dream I see the The sweep of centuries I am a prehistoric bird And I wandered six lane It would be generous to call them boulevards With their dead-eyed metal herd I’ve come to peck the faces All of the faces off of every clock Then set myself to ponder The golden shoals the clouds The rotting dock Can you hear the carnival rising The brutal fairgrounds aglow? Sunburned families laughing at The toy gun game stall Someone screaming below And I want to tell you About November The people that I met And sleeping badly On Pullman pallets Blue blanket caked in sweat Cardiogram power lines Heart of the department of the interior Glow-in-the-dark Casio Breathing fast When last we spoke I sang of end times Of cities washed away The bloodless halls A flooded station Could a train be an escape?