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november - gabriel kahane lyrics

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the last we spoke
i sang of end times
of cities washed away

the bloodless halls
of flooded stations
and that last train from la

well three years have p-ssed
and here i am in the waiting room
delayed with all the restless

some sixty eyes fixed hard and fast
on the tv playing something senseless

me, i dream of a broken watch
with hands like vines

and the dream i see the
the sweep of centuries
i am a priest or a bird

and high wandered six lane
it would be generous to call them boulevards
with their dead-eyed metal herd

i have come to peck the faces
all of the faces off of every clock

then set myself to ponder the golden sh-r-s
the clouds, the rotting dock

can you hear the carnival rising?
the brutal fairgrounds aglow
sunburned families laughing at the toy gun game store
someone screaming below

and i want to tell you
about november
the people that i met

and sleeping badly
on poor man pallets
a blue blanket caked in sweat

cardiogram power lines
heart of the department of the interior
glow-in-the-dark casio breathing faster

the last we spoke
i sang of end times
of cities washed away

the bloodless halls
of flooded stations
could a train be an escape?

- gabriel kahane lyrics

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