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lyrics

What kind of gone? Far. What can you steal? Away.
What does it take? Off. What is the freak? Out.
What do you cut? Across. What kind of gone? Far.
What do you pull? What do you fall?
What do you blow? Apart.

They got off easy, easy,
a little thinnier, skinnier.
Slightly slighter though not slight.
Stretched tighter but not quite tight.
Leaner. Cleaner.
A freshly scrubbed demeanor.
It spun on a little lighter, smoother, surer,
a little less wobble, resistance.
Weighted and freighted with
less relief, more relief.
A mark was made but it was light,
light and easily erased.
Impressions left were shallow as
impressions taken.
It filled in quick as light.
Oh, Mr. Driver, won't you let me on to ride?
We can sing together as we go.
I see you heading where
I'm sure that I belong,
where the secrets are that I should know.
I don't mind, I can ride out in the back alone.
Just let me on.
I saw you riding, and your voice -
it really shined!
I believe I'll be shining right along.
Oh, do deliver me to where I have in mind,
where we'll sing together, you and me.
Don't be shy, sing along.
I'll ride up front with you.
Won't you open up?
The time to be desired comes and goes
(it mostly goes). Talk faster.
No thoughts will come along anyway.
Swirl around and entertain.
Turn a phrase and turn some heads.
(Not quite what I can do.)
Oh, Dear Desire, time to ride away from you.
What you're singing, it is not my song.
So please pull over,
time to let me off the hook,
trying to be where I do not belong.
It's all right. I can see
it's not the place for me.
Where you're going looks lovely,
and what they're singing:
it is the sound that I was seeking.
I thought it was, but it is not my song.
It's not my song.

credits

from Expeditionary Twitch (2017), released August 5, 2017

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John Elmquist's HardArt groop Chicago, Illinois

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