Here I Land, again
There at Neon Lake Motel, the bird
Wailed to keep away the waking hours
I go there every night just to feel safe
All the time I will
Wait for dark to shape my escape
Getting by, who knew?
We could fly this low, without a scrape.
Here I go, I see myself, a child
Pressing down record and singing wild
Pointing at the blue book on the shelf
I hold him and I tell him he was right
No one meant to fly this low, You and I should know.