What is that noise?
It comes from your head like snow

Are you trying to fill up on thoughts again?
There is no more room

Run your mind through the wind
The chaff flies away like moths

What is left – think

When I talk to you at the crossing
A mythical train roars past

Are you going on a journey again?
Through boxcars of memories

Now I have found my place
Where I stand in a bottle of turpentine

What is left – think