Fire Season

No one lives here, everything is for sale
no one lives nearby, everything is a pass by
Whistling in the dark, makes snow melt fast
whispering in the dark, makes running hard

In the distance a glistening
of a fastway, highway, getting away out of this no place

In the distance a glistening
of a fastway, highway, getting away out of this no place

Familycars, rvs, houses in packages
behind slim fences, all the barking dogs
Sizzling street lights, high pines on hillside
clouds hang low until the night falls in

In the distance a glistening
of a fastway, highway, getting away out of this no place

Stale coffee, vacuumed leather seats
they say: “you get used to this”, “It's not so bad”

Cold creek water, pinpricks on the skin
browning flowers, fire season's soon

In the distance a glistening
of a fastway, highway, getting away out of this no place