I'm sitting on the cur
By the empty parking lot
Of the store where they let me play the organ
I'm waiting for my ride
But I want to wait inside
Of the store where they let me play the organ
But I'm thinking of a wooden chair
In a room at the top of the stair
And I'm looking down the stairwell
At the vanishing dot
On the map of the spot
let me take you there
The dotted line
Surrounding the mind
Of a self called nowhere
It's a thing named "it"
in a bottomless pit
You can't see it there
The sunken head
That lies in the bed
Of a self called nowhere
Standing in my yard
Where they tore down the garage
To make room for the torn down garage
I'm looking for my car
But I must've sold my car
When I needed to buy an electric organ