She comes rolling in possessed
with the purple-sky blues and
the train-track tension. we knock.
we knock on stratified pennsylvanian rock.
ok? ok! we improvise or we replicate.

we knock.
we knock on stratified pennsylvanian rock.
our ears to the track, we know what's up
when beach-party justice means
wheat-field truck. hey!

preserved in this embrace, a history we make
we must proceed with vigor
to idenify its wake

(Thanks to Msott for these lyrics)