Find the map and draw a straight line over rivers, over farms and state lines.
The distance from ‘A’ to where you’d be;
it’s only finger-lengths that I see.
I touch the place where I’d find your face, my fingers in creases of distant dark places.
I’m miles from where you are, I lay down on the cold ground.
I pray that something picks me up and sets me down in your warm arms.
The distance from ‘A’ to where you’d be;
it’s only finger-lengths that I see.
I touch the place where I’d find your face, my fingers in creases of distant dark places.
I’m miles from where you are, I lay down on the cold ground.
I pray that something picks me up and sets me down in your warm arms.