sometimes i think the moments aren't real
sometimes i think the moments are metaphores

and here i am with this girl
and the car's all parked cock eyed
and i'm outside it, shifting my feet in the sugar sand
and smoking

and this girls inside
and she's fixing her contact
and the holy pine barrens are sprawling
just sprawling out and on and past
and the monotonous engine noise
but not perfect monotony
more like one plug is missing from the ignition sequence

the whole thing just starts feeling like a metaphore for something else
all together
and suddenly, i'm symbolic of somethin
and the sugar sand and the pines and
the imperfect car engine and all
might mean something
and there's this moral
that i can almost taste

and the girls not really a girl
or at least her contacts not actually a contact
and maybe
we aren't actually stopped
on some dim dirt road