THE FINISH LINE




As we move along the rails
In the shade of ancient pines
We take a pill for the pain
or two for the finish line
But we're not in a rush to get there


We're old ghosts more than we're kings
We're nothing more than fading echoes blown by the winds
Wilted flowers on the side of the road
Tales of wasted final hours that will not be told




Astray Astronauts band photo