Contrails

Maybe you're dressed in your Blue Oyster Cult T-shirt
Or maybe you're crumbling somewhere with a beer in your hand
Or maybe you're laying back on a lawn chair somewhere watching
Contrails disappear from the sky

Whiskey, painkillers, and speed
Will carry me there
Because it could be
That I could lose my mind
And have it caught somehow suspended in a constant thought of you

Maybe you're living in a row house
Surrounded and aligned next to a hundred others
With streets that run in parallel line
Two stories of brick covered in white trim
Surrounded by ivy and grass
Or maybe you're living in an apartment somewhere
And like myself, slowly losing your fucking mind

Whiskey, painkillers, and speed
Will carry me there
Because it could be that I could lose my sight
But have it caught somehow suspended in a constant vision of you