Searching for Purpose in Bottles and Bars

Lately I've been thinking of the vastness of travel and the way, between seas, you can get lost somewhere in any land where life grows. I want to feel my feet beneath miles of promises new and see the sights and the sounds and the pure curvature of earth. So who's to say we can't just kick off the dust and take these souls to the road and move on? Who's going to be there for us in the distant horizons of months and years? I want to hold your hand and dissolve into mists, evaporate into the heat soaked tarmac of winding roads. I want to worry over stars and shelter and I know everyone has their worries but I've been told we'll all get there, to some place, some day. Like the boy on the corner playing sax for cash, and the woman who waits on our cokes and our fags. The terrors who steal all those cars in the night, that blaze through the cities in flickering twilight. The children that cry into the desolate night, and the men who drink lonely in the dingy and dusty bars, paralytic and slumping into November frost. They're all just trying to find their way, like us, and everyone else. They're all just trying to find their meaning. I've got to find my meaning, babe.