Up on the bluff Where I wish I was Twisting up the pages of history My cold feet dangling My bony arms gesturing To summon up a little chunk of that history In the corridor, the shadows are long And it messes with my equilibrium And there's strains of a strange language Up on the bluff Where the hardwoods jut Out toward the gusts of history My crusty mind cracks My restless heart tracks The fractal lines of history In the corridor, the shadows are long And it messes with my equilibrium And there's strains of a strange language In the corridor, the shadows are long And it messes with my equilibrium And there's strains of a strange language