A buzzing, whirring noise
The streetlamps sound like indoor florescent lights, making the purple sky sunshine yellow again
I sit locked out, with no one to talk to; no feet to pick me up and run
A distant sound of birds, like the window has been left open
And the sky hangs like an illusion on the ceiling of this vast room they call the world
I run out onto the highway
Hands outstretched for a knob only I can see
To a big brown and brass door that isn’t there
In the middle of the median of the center of the universe
The streetlamps sound like indoor florescent lights, making the purple sky sunshine yellow again
I sit locked out, with no one to talk to; no feet to pick me up and run
A distant sound of birds, like the window has been left open
And the sky hangs like an illusion on the ceiling of this vast room they call the world
I run out onto the highway
Hands outstretched for a knob only I can see
To a big brown and brass door that isn’t there
In the middle of the median of the center of the universe
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