I'm standing in that spot where the tracks interlace.
You're screaming, "Just pick a path, sweetheart!
Just pick a path."
But the volume of your voice makes the hazy air
Swim in and out of focus, tracks twisting back and
Forth onto themselves and I can't tell the past from
Hands clapped over ears, humming loudly, swaying
On feet with knee socks bunched up around ankles.
Just pick a path, sweetheart. Just pick a path.