Man Of Maps

As a man of maps

As a man of maps I gazed on in

Thank christ, turn out the lights

Somewhere between the station and the turnpike

It's indecision that I don’t like

For over 36 moons

Third pitcher on a working afternoon

Open sky when it’s the 20th of june

Ain’t no weekends here

As a man of maps, I gazed on in

I look back on those days in silence

A hundred thousand, maybe more

Its hard to count them, falling like dead flowers on the floor

My heart is pounding, a pile driver in my chest

A warm fountain, cold cigarette

As a man of maps, I gazed on in

I look back on those days in silence

I wish that I would be forgiven, for all those things I’ve done

I wish that I would be forgiven, for all those things, all those crazy things I

As a man of maps

As a man of maps

As a man of maps I gazed on in