Vārdi: The Mountain Goats. Twin Human Highway Flares.

you turned to me and asked me if i'd always be your boy
as we drove across the river into western illinois
and on the railroad bridge, half a mile of solid steel
wheels were spitting out sparks, scraping at the rails
wind in your hair all right
sunset spilling through the rear window
your white t-shirt hugging your shoulders, beaded with sweat
on the day that i become so forgetful
that all of this melts away
i will burn all the calanders that counted the years down
to such a worthless day

as we walked across the parking lot toward the motel office
we were walking with a ?benediction? on us
light was everywhere, the building stood against the sky
like a monument to desperation 2 floors high
a mile and a half from the river
we went back to the car to get our overnight bags
sunset spilling through your earrings, all over your body
when we shut the motel door behind us, we knew we'd hit the motherlode
on the day that i forget you, i hope my heart explodes