This is just what it seems:
anesthesia, no one screams.

No more straining after gold.

No more struggling to hold.

This is just what it seems.
 


See the land slowly change:

spread of alkali on the range;

deeper canyons, weaker streams,

wilder-eyed beliefs, thinner dreams.

This is just what it seems.
 


Horizon highway, Flying J

howling through the town night and day.

For every feeling finds a word,

there’s an ocean won’t be heard.

This is just what it seems.