wondering where you went when you left that party that night.
cloud blood smudge smeared on the sky,
it's dawn's roadkill.
i've been driving since midnight and i'm driving still.
stop on the top of the ridge just to feel the wind on my rand mcnally.
then i feel the air grow cold as i drift
to the first blue of the valley.
and you're wondering how far down you are on my call back list.
but you don't realize everytime i find i'm by a phone the landscape shifts.
every other song someone's trying to write angels into the world.
every ace,
every grace,
every near miss,
every decent kiss by a pretty girl.
she was an angel.
she looked like an angel.
and all of the angels did sing,
and the angels were watching,
and the angels were listening,
and the angels were on hand to stand in for everything.
you can call it magic when a man pulls a rabbit out of a hat.
but the reason i don't call you is 'cause i wonder if there isn't a better word than that.
and you can call me crazy,
but i think you're as lazy as white paint on the wall.
and i know you'll only speak to me in dial tones if i call.
it's been way too long since i've been behind the wheel.
headlights guiding me right through the dark i feel.
driving,
trying hard to resist sleep's first kiss.
everytime i have time to think, i think of this.