Wave

Midtown streets are flooded with passerbys
Trying to get somewhere at a quarter to five
I know.. that it's home

Trying to fill that juicy center in the void of their heart
Hoping that they catch something that lasts after dark
They know it's home

Call me, call me on the telephone, ring ring
Telepath, a telegraph that you're listening
Listen to me

Feeling the weight of the traffic south of here
Destroying the sympathy that always seemed so near
I know.. that it's home

Living above the rest, give it a rest why don't you?
Every girl's dreaming of that one knee instead of you
They know it's home
Blueprint in a poem

Call me, call me on the telephone, ring ring
Telepath, a telegraph that you're listening
Listen to me

There's nothing to regret
Only these days to forget

Take It Slow

Running the reds on Liberty Avenue
Wondering what would happen
If we had never stopped to ask it
but we did
and now we're so far apart

Feeling guilt breathing down my neck
It's true, we're divided
This wasn't a good idea
But it is
and now we're so far apart

Holding on to words that are slipping through my hands
Many a night spent alone by the river blues
Listening to a melody drift through my head
A song that sounds a lot like you

Remember When

The street lamps are leading us home
An orange glow filled with beckoning
I barely know who you are
Or what you do with your time

--

That soft mandarin glow kissed her cheeks as her head rested against the rear window of the cab. Her eyes were scanning, grabbing and letting go of the incandescent windows sweeping by. The lines on the road skipped by under the wheels and the pedestrians were whisked away into the background like TV noise with a personality. The traffic broke down as though she personally was shooting the gap. Rain drops patiently ran their races down the outside of the window, broadcasting their results in an outline on her lips.