Source Decay

Once a week I make the drive, two hours east
 To check the Austin post office box
 And I make the detour through our old neighborhood
 See all the Chevy Impalas in their front yards up on blocks
 And I park in an alley
 And I read through the postcards you continue to send
 Where as indirectly as you can, you ask what I remember
 I like these torture devices from my old best friend
 Well, I'll tell you what I know, like I swore I always would
 I don't think it's gonna do you any good
 I remember the train headed south out of Bangkok
 Down toward the water
 I always get a late start when the sun's going down
 And the traffic's thinning out and the glare is hard to take
 I wish the West Texas Highway was a mobius strip
 I could ride it out forever
 When I feel my heart break, I almost swear I hear it happen, in fact, clean and not hard
 I come in off the highway and I park in my front yard
 Fall out of the car like a hostage from a plane
 Think of you a while, start wishing it would rain
 And I remember the train headed south out of Bangkok
 Down toward the water
 I come into the house, put on a pot of coffee
 Walk the floors a little while
 I set your postcard on the table with all the others like it
 I start sorting through the pile
 I check the pictures and the postmarks and the captions and the stamps
 For signs of any pattern at all
 When I come up empty-handed the feeling almost overwhelms me
 I let a few of my defenses fall
 And I smile a bitter smile
 It's not a pretty thing to see
 I think about a railroad platform
 Back in 1983
 And I remember the train headed south out of Bangkok
 Down, down toward the water