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I’m in a tin tube. Inside a sun spot. 

Above the mountains high.

The burn of water. The fist of white noise.

The shake and throttling.


I’m in a tin tube. There’s no controlling.

Take what they’re giving me.

I’ve got my big books. They will distract me from thoughts of falling down.


I’m in a tin tube. Breathe through the same lung.

That’s me inside your mouth.

And every small field looks like a country.

Another question mark.


I’m in a tin tube. The heads are smiling.

As wine and bread moves by.


I’m in a tin tube. You’re in a building.

You check your watch again.

And up above you my ears are popping.

I hear the landing gear...

Jim Walker - Guitars, Keyboards, Percussion, Vocals

Stanley Cover Art 1.jpg
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