| This is my first rodeo
|
| I’m holding on tight to the rope
|
| Don’t know which way this will go
|
| An aisle at the convenience store
|
| Shoelace gray lottery floor
|
| It feels like I’ve been here before
|
| The clerk is a man behind glass
|
| Behind his eyes is the past
|
| Behind him the local news broadcast
|
| There are only two ways you can go
|
| Away from or back to your home
|
| So I picture a gigantic road
|
| Where everyone walks to the sun oh
|
| This is my first rodeo
|
| I’m holding on tight to the rope
|
| Don’t know which way this will go
|
| Hoping on breakfast downstairs
|
| My mom and my brother are there
|
| Cinnamon toast in the air
|
| The dogs are out back in the snow
|
| TV, the clock radio
|
| Everything talks in its home
|
| As the months are zoomed too far in
|
| These pages are pages I’ve read
|
| And the places are places I’ve been
|
| Oh
|
| And today is the same as the rest
|
| But sure it’s shaped nonetheless
|
| So I stand up and drop off my plate
|
| Push out the door to the front gate
|
| An aisle on a bus out of town
|
| I feel my feet moving me down
|
| The bus lifting up off the ground
|
| Then the thoughts come and go for awhile
|
| The parking lot fades into sight
|
| The path to the beach in the streetlight
|
| The door pulls the bus driver’s hand
|
| The curb pushes up to the sand
|
| I step into an alien land
|
| Oh
|
| Where the sand brush and snow dunes descend
|
| And ice water ocean begins
|
| And I think I can see to the end
|
| The winging the light in the wind |