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Short Change At The Freeway Station.
The half light steals across the world;
An unchanging ribbon of change unfurls
across another day at the
centre of the universe.
Change is the only constant thing
in the revolving wheels within the wheels within
the wheels that are the rhythms
of the universe.
Get me out of here.
And everything is just off centre
in centring on something else,
creating seasons and providing reasons why we seek
to find the reasons.
While in a hundred generations passing
beneath the same solar great unmasking
who else wonders why we need to light the night
the way we do?
Get me out of here.
But Barney at the Petrol Station
only knows this summer's weather's crazy;
And he's sick of fumes and grimy fingers
on the window panes he cleans.
His wife complains about his hours,
and about the hours he has to keep
and doesn't keep alone or not
alone at home.
And he turns away to pick up the phone
as another message shunts down the line
of 'This transaction has been denied.’
at the register of dreams.
Get me out of here.
I pull out into the early morning's
commuter, freight and taxi traffic;
A steady state of little lights
played out across the dieing,
blank black night:
This is the new Pacific.
This is the new Pacific.
This is the new Pacific.
Get me out of here.
One day across these event's horizons
we all will tumble, with surprising
looks upon our faces
as we realise:
There really is no day or night,
and all those ancient maps were right;
there really is a falling edge to the
whole known
and unknown universe.
Get me out of here.
And six billion universal unthinkings
into the one morning's light go blinking,
as one cock crows and someone's pre-paid
mobile rings.
And Barney says "And so it goes";
And the only thing I think I know is
I understand less than half I think
I know. And
Get me out of here.
