English
There are stretches of West Texas that don't even have a name. We stopped and took the chance to gas up every time it came. The scorching smell of summer vapor rising from the road. Strapped into a fuselage and waiting to explode. Everyone out in this desert is just passing through or lost. Dissipate into the atmosphere like smoke from the exhaust. Keep your eyes on the horizon, back turned towards the wind. At every highway's ending, find another one begins. On the run. Running from an enemy who does not have a name. We are running out of money but we must stay in the game. Running from the sinking feeling that this never ends From anything that's preordained or feels like giving in. It don't make no difference how far away you go. Seems like we just end up in the one place we really know On the run. If heaven feels like standing still I'd rather go to hell. We are running from the silence at the bottom of the well. Running from becoming another book up on the shelf. We are running from each other. We are running from ourselves.