Oh, the scene was macabre, Two to the floor of the van When we, reentering the state, passed a Bridge whose architects were gods that left it, They left its rusted frame in the hands, The failing hands of sinners. And I rested my eyes for The first time in weeks While you lay there wondering Would you ever sleep again? Oh, and we spelled out disaster, Cute, like a broken accent. And drunk? I'm nothing of the sort, I just Can't, can't seem to speak in tongues at the Moment I'm the figure of all my travels, A weary traveling suitcase. Always the same nightmare. Will we ever pause just To allow this love to Come remove its coat?