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de The Mountain Goats

on a thursday, on the 110
i felt the fever rise again.
the weatherman east of here predicted rain.
i hammered the words into my brain.
you were all i ever needed to get by.

on the long island expressway,
about 4 AM on a thursday,
humidity like i'd never seen before,
and you sleeping like a baby, i could hear the engine roar.
somewhere high up abvoe us in the new york sky,
where time means less than nothing, and noone ever dies,
someone knew you were all there was worth needing.

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