Why? - Hoofs lyrics

Listening for the hoofs of the rescue party. Waiting for some ghost pony to glide into Berkeley with an old fish bowl for a tear trap strapped to its ghost saddle. It moves slow like an exercise bike on an airport walkway. Something that wouldn't smell like ground ants or glossy magazine cologne, But a wet street after light late summer rain, a wooden match just lit, or something new in the green subject of a landscape painting, or something new in the foreground in a poster of some Asian mountains that says "Patience" in a funky Italics.