listening to my thoughts talk in strange affected accents done waiting for my youth to get me by looking for that cloud of rain to burst with sound and vision rage open arms, empty air open arms, empty airs pardon me I make my way got to get out to the observation deck I go staring down pardon me I slip away I'm going overboard will I fall to heaven or to the ocean's floor listening to my thoughts talk soft and gray and delicate done waiting for the useless march of time looking for a sweet release to end it lightning quick open arms, empty air open arms, empty airs hurriedly I take my leave I have no reason to hang about this rusted wreck I know how this will end don't mind me I always lean this far against the rails find some joy in guessing when my balance fails soaring over the brittle earth roaring over forests of branches bare overfilled with primal drive we are the streamline we are the streamline listening to my thoughts talk in screaming flight of fancy plots done waiting for those winds of change looking for a perfect place to punctuate the rat race open arms, empty air open arms, empty airs pardon me I make my way have to get out to the observation deck I go staring down don't mind me I always seem this far off the rails find some kind of happiness in all life's little fails in these cold distances vacant and barren we are the streamline we are the streamline we are the tendrils we push through the sky-ways