Every night when the moon finally sets behind the mountain it’s easy to imagine that nothing really changed That I’m still sitting in the back of my red 1976 pick up truck with the windows down smoking a cigarette or that I’m back in the cabin with the screen door wide open to the crescent that swings so low it looks like it might fall into the wheat fields that seem to never end when you can’t see the line between earth and sky But there’s a you now and the easy no-nonsense life is all behind me drowning in the quasar of spinning memories And the you and the I don’t always get along so well when it gets quiet like this and the empty space seems endless even though the you’s warm body is right next to the I pulling with its own gravitational field into the fleece blankets So I sit and listen and I try to make out the reels and strathspeys and compose the life that a lonelier I could have lived But you shift in your sleep and catch me back into your orbit It’s a wonder I don’t burn up in your atmosphere but there’s no escaping the cosmic destruction As the galaxy settles and a lone cry floats through the darkness