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