hair blowing in the hot wind
time hanging from a clothes pin
there's no sorrow that the sun's not gonna help

smell the leather of your new car
drive through the desert after night fall
sleep on the shoulder keep the stars all to ourselves

the kinda love that makes my back hurt
wearing nothing but a t-shirt
she's turning over on a mattress made of air

i close my eyes i see a stair case
leading upwards into blank space
all of creation makes a sound too soft to hear

so I remain between her legs
sheltered from all my fears
while bikers glide by highway shrines
where pilgrims disappear

Conor Oberst, Sausalito
pic Bruce Davidson