Up above you darling (past the line, between the land), I'll call you from Vancouver
just looking @ your picture till it's all that I can stand. This dream's a lil narrow, so
I'm sticking to my guns while the wake-up calls keep coming (though sometimes, dearie,
lord the thought of another one).

Are you shaking? Are you sleeping? Another weepy lil rager drowned down to the ring.
It's hard a moon to swallow. You're drunk or you're dead under this swollen,
swampy sky; when the thought of one more broken night is more than some'll ever shed.