Words with more flesh than my friends in this sunset town on the edge of time.
Not ready to call it, ready to be called, off in the wings, off on the end.
I am culling all my last words and sowing my eulogy.
I’ve got a heavy right hand and heart filled with flight.
Call me home, don’t call too late.
Too early to call it, too late to wait, I’m spinning around an invisible center.
I’m just a matter of matter and maybe just a little bit more.
I’m standing right there in the middle of tomorrow, in the middle of free.