Turbulence - Fred Thomas

You were a journalist when we first kissed

And I held my breath and waited

For the world to turn inside me

But you fucked me up somethin' serious

And left a mess for whoever next would come along and find me

Lane, Lane

Hiding in the corners of your heart

Sleeping in the backseat of your car

Lane, Lane

Sleeping beneath you on your floor

Sleeping on your back porch

Even the birds would sing of the sweltering

Summer of unprecedented nervous sleep and nightmares

There was something else I had to sing myself

A song of love was coming up but never really gets there

Loneliest art of loneliness

Was always lost on you

The intricate emptiness

One plus two?

Now all the scientists and mathematicians

Are sorting through your garbage

To try to find evidence about you

But soon enough they too will be left

Because live or die you realize

The world still turns without you

Lane, Lane

Hiding in the corners of your heart

Sleeping in the backseat of your car

Lane, Lane

Sleeping beneath you on the floor

Sleeping on your back porch