Passing imagery gets the best of me
when I drive these miles past the gravel piles.
It's so easy to see the diamonds vexing me.
It's so hard to know which way this wind will blow.
She tells me about a man with better eyes and hands,
like a walking dream, the captain of his team.
I'd love nothing better than to talk about her weather,
her blue skies and sun. Here comes another one.
You solipsistic bitch! I'll never scratch your itch
because when you talk so tough nothing's good enough.
I was so blind. I couldn't see your kind.
But now, I clearly see passing imagery.