graytown purgatory

walking down to hazy graytown
pollen floats slow i'm in a spacedrift
or warm snowstorm of a dream

the haze suits my purgatory
waiting to hear
car in the OR
could go wither way
same as my tour
i'd be listening to things behind the sun
if i hadn't run my ipod through the washer
making a record is not in my job description

still i sort of see the road
cursed to be born a serious soul
blessed to be always composing a frame
know everyday is the last day