Personal Eclipse Songtext

von The Weather Station

I remember the dry grass of Nebraska, grey to distant blue.
I stopped on hills like slumping shoulders; car cooling, I took off my shoes.
I drove out west with my sister – she talks more than I do.
When she fell silent, still I'd miss her,
The sound of the wind coming through.

I remember the smoky cups of coffee at the continental divide,
Mesas rose up there beside me. I felt like I'd arrived.
I walked on the streets of California in the wail of car alarms.
Men would shout out to me passing, a stranger with crossed arms.

I remember the subtlety of canyons, black by the roadside,
A cut in the rocks as I was passing, just a glimpse as you go by.
If there's something you always are choosing – you may not recognise.
If there's something you always are loosing – something disguised.

Lately I find myself lonely – I wouldn't have called it that before.
I always took it as a comfort – what all the distance was for.
If you can't leave clean as a statement – so true that you almost wince.
If you can't leave, you get
Yourself taken – like a personal eclipse.