Nineteen years Just old enough to think you've seen it all This stop sign's an undramatic curtain call A collection of all my fears Collecting thoughts I caught my breath In a newer knapsack to salvage what was left of you I packed my things and carried them home And then I carried you home Safety surrounds me In late light security A vision quest on city streets Obscuring where the city sleeps all night The headlights don't work this time The headlight are held on the turn signal's swan song I sold your things to call up a cab And you picked up the tab 300 bucks Your body's on the trunk Engine is locked The rope is in the trunk I counted backwards I counted hours I counted ways to pick your frame apart