But we’ll make only quick decisions,
and you’ll just keep me in the waiting room,
and all the while I’ll know we’re fucked,
and not getting un-fucked soon.
When we get home we’re bigger strangers than we’ve ever been before.
You sit in front of snowy television, suitcase on the floor.
Two weeks and ten thousand miles
If I could fly I’d think it over
If I could see the landing ground
You saw the side of me that’s red
I just got tired of all the nodding
It’s more than talking to myself