The goslings have got their flight feathers in.
You can see them in those not yet flights sometimes.
Soon the scene’s gonna change,
you’ve got Dogs Eyes licking through those lyrics
in that guitar bawl, minor tone reverb, big blustery Wye Oak sound.
Taking those first few flaps,
we gonna soar, or we gonna be sore?
That one-two-ohnoican’tdoit heave.
Setting into this good enough groove.
Gettin’ bored real quick,
but a bit short on travel’s tick.
those old summer days,
burning dust-dried air,
that almost gunpowder,
the washed out oranges,
and browns and yellows.
Windows down,
air r u s h i n g
past.
Sliding my fingers in waves along the air currents.
like flying.
