Speaking in tongues. Living as spies. Filling the holes in our eyes.
Searching for signs of life to take us home.

As slaves to this obsession our will is its direction.

Hidden brights. Only yellow lines and the scarce street light
and more green signs will shape our lives.
Feed our lives with asphalt veins.
Fueled by our need to create and define with asphalt veins.

We'll find our way back home between lines in the road.

We'll find vanishing eyes, lost, consciously trapped, confined.
We'll find promising signs. Lives reunite and light to rise again.
We'll find our way back home.

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