Owen Sheers - Under the Superstition Mountains lyrics

'Nothing is hiding behind this picket fence ...' Eels, 'Susan's House' The Mustang is idle, out to gra** at the side of the road, absorbing the heat into its mock leather seats. I sit at the wheel while the photographer sleeps, reading Lowell on marriage, 'the monotonous meanness of his lust' in a suburb-still street in Sun City West where only the old are allowed to live and the neighbours keep check on each others' houses. A man in a track-suit takes his oxygen tanks for a walk and a single bird hits a piano wire mid flight, its note settling without telling what kind of bird it is, leaving another space between sense and knowing. The photographer in the pa**enger seat doesn't move, sedated by the heat, his lower lip dropped and his finger on the trigger of the shutter, as if he'd died and finally shot the perfect still. Only his breath, deep and dry, tells me this isn't so, as above us the Superstition mountains tear an edge off the sky and somewhere off camera a rattlesnake uncoils from Winter --- shakes itself alive, without knowing why.