Last Exit

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I'm holding my breath
Just to see how it feels
To be all rushing from me
To be cracking the seals

There's some kind of poem
In the laundry machines
Press your ear to these thin hotel walls and
You'll see what I mean

And there's a picture in your fingers
Intersecting with mine
It's a church with no steeple
And all the folk are trapped inside

So, here we are, you beautiful man
Two specks on a map where no places have names
I'll tell you my secret in a room with no sound
When the last exit to morning comes around
When the last exit to morning comes around

I'm counting my toes, road signs brushing my feet
Your laconic repose palmed in a sun-dappled seat
And I'm tracing the steps we may well never make
My body is a stranger that I meet every night
Before you've had time to awake


So, here we are, you beautiful man
Two specks on a map where no places have names
I'll tell you my secret in a room with no sound
When the last exit to morning comes around
When the last exit to morning comes around

There will be a crash, babe
And it will make some noise
But for now, here we lie, babe
Oh so wonderfully poised...


So, here we are, you beautiful man
Two specks on a map where no places have names
I'll tell you my secret in a room with no sound
When the last exit to morning comes around
When the last exit to morning comes around

~ Brendan Bonsack






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