1. Two birds eat the same song from both ends.
When they swallow the melody, where do we go then?
The common ground’s soil’s infertile.
Can’t meet half-way walkin’ in circles.
This landmark only marks itself.
“So and so was here years prior to his birth.”
I can see the scotch tape on the moon tonight.
I can see the seams on the surface of the earth.
X might mark “a” spot, doesn’t mark “the” spot.
The spot moves to where we forgot.
There’s less to express in thinner air
Not lost yet but we’re getting there.
Road’s washed out, looks like we’re walkin.’
How should I know if I come here often?
Some places only look familiar
The very first time you lay eyes on ‘em.

Chorus: The road less traveled’s still a road
You find the most beautiful bones in the undergrowth.
We sought no exact gains but we found some.
The best diversions are never returned from.

And we’d rather risk disaster
than have to backtrack.
One gray morning
Wake to the sound of your sure route forking.
And we’d rather that the audience leave
before the last act.
One bright nightfall
find yourself humming the Siren’s call.

2. The edge of the morning, clipped short, bleeds through.
You can feel it in how the noon breeze seeks you.
Names beget more names without mating.
All around: paradises downgrading.
Define the borders and cross ‘em all
In imperfect health and second hand boots.
The Misdirector: in search of a motive
On borrowed time in a better man’s suit.
Satellites droppin’ into comas.
We can’t translate these new transmissions.
Old haunts won’t stop trying to phone us.
You can’t draw a line around a true transition.
“You are now entering…” illegible.
Population: well, that’s hard to say.
Local legend says nobody leaves
Or else everybody left yesterday.
Chorus: The road less traveled’s still a road
You find the most beautiful bones in the undergrowth.
We sought no exact gains but we found some.
The best diversions are never returned from.

And we’d rather risk disaster
than have to backtrack.
One gray morning
Wake to the sound of your sure route forking.
And we’d rather that the audience leave
before the last act.
One bright nightfall
find yourself humming the Siren’s call.

3. On the outside looking in to the outskirts.
Greet the storm with your voice but without words.
Me and the heat just made eye contact.
Some days every last track is the wrong track.
One wrong turn deserves another.
Diggin’ the hole deeper with my brother.
Off the scenic route, into the scene.
Adrift in doubt, somehow serene.
Instinct placed this path right here.
Thought never got the chance to interfere.
Thorns in the thickets snag my clothing.
No way to know which way the river’s flowing.
I can smell the lightning coming.
Cutting gashes out of the dark.
I know this hill, I know this clearing.
I know this moment’s scent by heart.