I always cry on the Amtrak
Something about the speed of the houses
A butterfly on the highway
Borrowing wind, traveling south for a while
There is a way to get anywhere
You are a friend from an old life
Quiet and good, draped in a blanket
And like a bend in the sunlight
I think you look farther away than you are
Only so many miles to anywhere
Oh, the spinning rock into which we drill
In the mountains and the mirrors
And the march of time
It's a big black box a stranger built
We always have to wonder
What moves inside
And in the blue of the evening (Oh, oh)
Walking alone, calling my brother
It doesn't feel like I'm pleading (Oh, oh)
Asking to know what else is out there for me
There is a way to be anywhere
On the spinning rock into which we drill
In the mountains and the mirrors
And the march of time
It's a big black box a stranger built
We always have to wonder
What moves inside
Rivers and towns with service roads
I'm in my seat, curtains closed
Or else I'll lose all my momentum
Of all we were told to ignore
What am I still burning for?
And is it on this bridge in Trenton?
Oh, the spinning rock into which we drill
The bin of socks on the window sill
The hallway clock says "before until"
A two mile walk up a shady hill
It's a big black box a stranger built
A gray coach car, a navy quilt
We see but we are never shown
We know, but we can never know
