We sense defeat
It’s not because of the cold
We’re feeling old
A word bestows honor on a thing
Like being knighted
After being dragged out
Of the dark forest of the unknown
All those expressions of regret
That never got sent
All those debts unpaid
Heading out on some Nazca line
For Interstate 9 do you remember
That chilly night on the coast
Of Mexico we drove for coffee
To a little shop on the edge
Of town we sat at an outdoor table
Between the dark beach and the lights
So infinite and calm
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