Thank christ, turn out the lights
Somewhere between the station and the turnpike
It's indecision that I don’t like
For over 36 moons
Third pitcher on a working afternoon
Open sky when it’s the 20th of june
Ain’t no weekends here
As a man of maps, I gazed on in
I look back on those days in silence
A hundred thousand, maybe more
Its hard to count them, falling like dead flowers on the floor
My heart is pounding, a pile driver in my chest
A warm fountain, cold cigarette
As a man of maps, I gazed on in
I look back on those days in silence
I wish that I would be forgiven, for all those things I’ve done
I wish that I would be forgiven, for all those things, all those crazy things I
As a man of maps
As a man of maps
As a man of maps I gazed on in