I have things to pass the time and I have things to smash the clocks,
I have things to take you there and I have things to bring you back,
I have:
– a hundred thousand in $20 and $10 bills,
– a beat-up four-door, just for the feel of it,
– the next three motels mapped out,
– all the cigarettes Philip Morris ever made and
– a love that I’m not afraid to use

So drive to West 51st and switch cars, pretending to be invisible
which we all are. Give up the handicrafts and drama
to drown in handshakes, in Americana.
Leave behind five-star bistros and their rustic feel,
alongside what once was the American Dream;
boutiques so quaint which really ain’t,
suits and ties and the Man and his lies,
the money and the pie charts, piled atop the downtrodden hearts,
the infotainment, the “I want to be famous”,
the bagels, the crap coffee, the sweet taste of nothing –
and the rooms pregnant with silence.

With silence. That serves but threat and dust.
With silence. That is a bullet in the chamber of us.
With silence. That has swept our purpose aside.
With silence. That at gunpoint laughs at our lives.

– and I want to make it out of here with you
for Uncle Sam may want you, but not half as bad as I do.

I want to find the center point of Kansas’ plains,
there bury the keys to our Brooklyn loft;
to bring down the killing Texan sun
and howl at the Montanan moon,
so silver and aloof; on wolf hours walk past each
empty seat of Soldier Field, and for my kin
claim the land they dubbed Illinois;
to see the spirits as they shift the seasons,
as do believe the Iroquois.

To rob and ruin Fort Knox so a billion lives could reboot;
I’m ready and willing, but with nobody but you.
It would take four hands a hundred years
to carry and sink all that gold to San Fran Bay…
and “yes we can”, as they always say.

Synchronize watches and hearts in 3… 2… 1… now.