Destination

Our instruments have no way of measuring this feeling
 Can never cut below the floor, or penetrate the ceiling
 In the space between our houses, some bones have been discovered
 But our procession lurches on, as if we had recovered
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 Draconian winter unforetold
 One solar day, suddenly you're old
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 Your little envelope just makes me cold
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 Makes destination start to unfold
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 Our documents are useless, or forged beyond believing
 Page forty-seven is unsigned, I need it by this evening
 In the space between our cities, a storm is slowly forming
 Something eating up our days, I feel it every morning
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 Destination, destination
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 Destination, destination
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 Destination, destination
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 It's not a religion, it's just a technique
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 It's just a way of making you speak
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 Distance and speed have left us too weak
 And destination looks kind of bleak
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 Our elements are burned out, our beasts have been mistreated
 I tell you it's the only way we'll get this road completed
 In the space between our bodies, the air has grown small fingers
 Just one caress, you're powerless, like all those clapped-out singers
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 Destination, destination
 Destination, destination
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 Destination, destination
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 Destination