Pockets

Powderfinger

By now you know that I never arrived

I was too tired to move

I was gonna invent an elaborate excuse

But I'm tired of them too



Little pockets of air in the atmosphere

Make it easy to breathe

So farewell to unpleasant scenes

I want you to stay, stay, stay



The blinding flash of circling stars

Left relatively shallow scars

You played your faux renaissance card

To starry eyes and wild applause



It's not your destination

So something, something better happen