moonlight

yawn awake, familiar surroundings, all hotel rooms are pretty much the same, although the room number might change, catch a glimpse of everything within the lighter's flame, there's always a window, but so changes the view, affording a clue to the answer that's owing, where we might be and where we might be going, there's no fixed address but the van, white as a suburb, catch a reflection in store windows, as we're headed in any direction, so press your head against the window, look outside at emptiness, tell a joke, or take a piss, take a picture at every mile, lock the door and start the engine quince it's gonna be a while, tell a joke, take a piss, take a picture at every mile, start the van, close the door, quince i think it's gonna be a while, the climates flay themselves, undress themselves at the side of the road, commute at the union between failure and hope, weave a highway line to stitch a skirt out on the land, twist and turn, and tell a story like the palm of your hand, ponder awe and wonder, keep watching the skies, wonder awe, and ponder in the blink of an eye, the climates flay themselves, undress themselves at the side of the road, commute at the union between failure and hope, turn our weakness into, turn our blindness into, turn our questions into answers as obvious, turn our weakness into might, oh, turn our blindness into sight, turn our questions into answers just as obvious, as moonlight in the darkest, darkest night