Besedila: Mountain Goats, The. Twin Human Highway Flares.

you turned to me and asked me if i'd always be your boy

as we drove across the river into western illinois

and on the railroad bridge, half a mile of solid steel

wheels were spitting out sparks, scraping at the rails

wind in your hair all right sunset spilling through the rear window

your white t-shirt hugging your shoulders, beaded with sweat

on the day that i become so forgetful that all of this melts away

i will burn all the calanders that counted the years down to such a worthless day



as we walked across the parking lot toward the motel office

we were walking with a benediction on us

light was everywhere, the building stood against the sky

like a monument to desperation 2 floors high

a mile and a half from the river we went back to the car to get our overnight bags sunset spilling through your earrings, all over your body

when we shut the motel door behind us, we knew we'd hit the motherlode

on the day that i forget you, i hope my heart explodes