Resisting all temptations to declare your super-human submission,
you take a moment to look around and get a good feel for the
gathered negligence.  Scanning the faces, you take note of quite
the collection of distinguished guests who have all taken time
out of their self-possessed schedules to observe your post
marked and highly rehearsed announcement.

But you're not quite in the mood to fulfill expectations.  Not
tonight.  You're feeling a home town allegiance that has less
than nothing to do with all the restless expectations along
this main street ticker-tape parade.  And you've got the mike,
so who among these well wishers is gonna stop you from speaking
your mind?  Yeah, those sash wearing do-gooders might be sweating
through their cheap fabric but that never was ever really concern.
Now, was it?

Slide into the land-locked fog cloud and allow the marriage of the
quivering future with the deep past.  Loiter at the crossroad...
dig in and indulge this climactic meteorological abnormality.

What have we done with our gifted reasoning?  In our run-down
dwellings with cold air blowing through the cracks in the
moldings. Warming ourselves around make-shift heating elements.
Shivering at the thought of day break.

They shut off the heat during the great November crack down.
And the factory closed its doors before anybody could weigh
their options.  Eager workers greeted with boarded up windows
on that sad morning of reckoning.  And all the friends we were
waiting to return from overseas never emerged from the gangplank
to join in the costly celebration.  But winter turned into spring.
And we packed away all our family albums...picking up and moving on.

Heading to the fabled desert highway...lying somewhere out
beyond the corn fields.  Past the railroad tracks and the
abandoned church house and the overgrown cemetery.  Ghosts
walking along the side of the road, bumming rides to the
whatever version of the promised land they can stumble upon.
Gotta be careful who you pick up out there on the borderline --
you never know who you might be taking across.

Pick a direction and go with it.  And don't bother about
the mile markers -- they were planted and re-planted long
ago, over and over, by competing factions...at cross
purposes.  Just a bunch of random numbers now, all meaning
gone to the gathering chaos.  But it might be worthwhile
to note that what has now become meaningless was once
worth fighting for by some group of believers.  So who are
you to shrug it off?  Who are you not to take notice?

Don't want to bore you with the details.  Once those city
lights became visible on the horizon things get pretty
boring. So here we are.  Here to commemorate the parting
of all our sweet sorrows.

You'll excuse me a second...

Sneaking out the side door to mingle with the alley
crawlers -- tapping feet against brick bent metal
railings.  Behind the eight ball and digging that big band
beat...them hits just keep coming.  Doing their best to
make sense out of the arrested attempt to feel something
new.  Nothing too drastic.  Don't want to strain those
senses beyond recognition.  Taking it easy on the syncopation.

But we do have to declare some intention before the night
gets too late.  Liven things up a bit.  Delve into rational
exposure...into disoriented awareness. Shuffle off to Idaho.
Don't let on, but the score was settled long before we could
even get a handle on the card.  They handed down the vibe
and now it's up to us to make up our dance steps.

It's show time...