I am afraid of bridges.
Sometimes I have to turn around
when I'm driving towards
one and my heart begins to pound.
Last night at the bridge to Johnsburg
I swerved down a dead end street.
I sat there shaking in an empty
lot full of broken glass and weeds.
Then past me in the darkness
ran four wild dogs
leaping over abandoned tires
high into the air.
In the air,
in the air,
someday I will live in the air.
Once I loved a girl named Joan
whose skin smelled just like falling snow.
One day she drove us off the road
into a dead field of corn.
She laughed and hit the gas as
we bounced across the rows,
but I held onto the dashboard
with my eyes tightly closed.
Those wild dogs brought back that
smell of falling snow
and the girl who lives in Johnsburg
across a bridge I can not cross.
Sometimes I have to turn around
when I'm driving towards
one and my heart begins to pound.
Last night at the bridge to Johnsburg
I swerved down a dead end street.
I sat there shaking in an empty
lot full of broken glass and weeds.
Then past me in the darkness
ran four wild dogs
leaping over abandoned tires
high into the air.
In the air,
in the air,
someday I will live in the air.
Once I loved a girl named Joan
whose skin smelled just like falling snow.
One day she drove us off the road
into a dead field of corn.
She laughed and hit the gas as
we bounced across the rows,
but I held onto the dashboard
with my eyes tightly closed.
Those wild dogs brought back that
smell of falling snow
and the girl who lives in Johnsburg
across a bridge I can not cross.