And it messes with my equilibrium
My cold feet dangling, my bony arms gesturing
Up on the bluff, where the hardwoods jut
My crusty mind cracks, my restless heart tracks
And it messes with my equilibrium
The fractal lines of history
In the corridor the shadows are long
In the corridor the shadows are long
Out toward the gusts of history
And it messes with my equilibrium
To summon up a little chunk of that history
In the corridor the shadows are long
And there's strains of a strange language
And there's strains of a strange language