From the recording Exit Pesce

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I haven't taken many chances in my life
it's why I have these hard regrets
like a broken-down ship trying to dock in ports and towns all filled up
tugboats have pulled me aimlessly along

not to say that all I've done is frozen in mid-step
the blood inside my body is still warm
it's why the thought of sitting still, of staying put with time to kill
is murdering my passion while I find

that you can't hide or stop from moving
and there's the tide: it's coming in or going home
my heart is not alone
in longing for the colors of the distant shore

I don't think we have enough states in this land
it's time we probably added a couple more
for silver spoons with etched-on names and truckers crossing golden plains
and all the flag-makers still looking for work

and in time a hundred states will be embarrassingly few
and all the states will further separate
til souths have norths and norths have souths and people finally close their mouths
start governing themselves, and wonder what to do with

their own thoughts
a curtain call and twenty-one shots
dying like a soldier, staring at the sky
and longing for the colors of the distant shore

truth is like a cousin whose picture's on the wall
smiling at the certain unchanging age
but when they finally meet again, that picture is a scowling man
a distant relative of what was once

now I hear you get to make a last request
something with that strange and final breath
somewhere there's a bus to catch in south dakota where the stars stretch
and daylight fades and sunsets lay to rest

the rage of youth
like a rotting oak or sweet vermouth
there's something left, and it leaves me drifting along
longing for the colors of the distant shore