One laydown machine burned a road, right through the prairie, stream of =
Boiling ash painted up with perfect lines, discount labor packing each =
Lane, bargain basement homes sewn to the road, slipshod directions do =
Not explain. I got these shoes for nothing and they have lasted me =
Forever, searching up and down the lost highway. I can read the grid, I =
Have memorized the key, counting every inch from C-4 to J-3, I can think =
In scale 'cause I know it ain't on my map, scraping off the typeset, dig =
Into the atlas. Well they can paint it up, make it appear to go =
Somewhere, well they can paint it up, but I know where it doesn't lead.
Submitted by: Mel
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Acathasia Lyrics

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