In this country of nowhere
On this sphere of spheres
On the 19th day of April
When the full moon reappears
There’s a new one for the old guard
It’s a cautionary tale
From the front porch in the backyard
One last postcard in the mail
From the 440 parkway
You can take the 40 west
Perhaps it’s best we part ways
‘Til I get this off my chest
We could end before it starts up
But then what would be the point?
You think she’s out but then she sparks up
Cause she loves to rock this joint
Colla, colla, collusion
I’ve got nothing to hide
Except my imagination
Behind tired eyes open wide
Colla, colla, collusion
I’m told that’s what they call it down here
Or maybe Doug was simply bending my ear
We’re scheming down in Dreamland through futures black and white
Our mind is crossing inner states and Provinces of Night
Spin some southern gothic to find some Northern Haze
Come on, man, come off it
Slow it down on lazy days
Colla, colla, collusion
Man, the fix is in
Confusing this illusion
Is anyone listening in?
Colla, colla, collusion
I’m told that’s what they call it down here
Counting down my 44 years
One eye on the white line between the dream and the delusion
One on the horizon as we cruise into
Colla, colla, collusion
I heard it on the wire
Blowin’ kisses to the missus
And so it does conspire
Colla, colla, collusion
I guess that’s what they call it down here
Maybe Doug was simply bending my ear
Objections in the rear view mirror may be closer than they appear
