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letra de floribraska - troubled hubble

in a pontiac 600 on a florida side street. there’s no
place like the midwest, except the southeast. when the
clouds hang low on a vacant beach and the roads stretch
on, endlessly. and the great facade of the holiday inn is
windowless at 3am, we’re on camera, we’re careless for
once and we’ll be d-mned if we’re not having fun, we’re
on radar. we’re not very far from an ocean breeze or a
field of dreams, and no one is getting any sleep. just as
the bluffs are hills the gulf’s a sea, the sky’s the
limit we meet. horizons on the palms and leaves, the
waves reflect the blues and greens.. sink or swim, drive
or die, find a coast, stay alive. a northern source will
feed us now, but we’ll all end up at the river’s mouth.
you know what they say about p-ssing ships? they’re old
ladies, in leopard print. who’ve lived their lives, with
telescopes. who’ve made mistakes, but are now too old.

- troubled hubble

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