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Thereâs a Diner out on Route Three Twenty Two.
Western Pennsylvania.
I spent my life there one afternoon.
I canât get that stretch of road
Out of my head.
I hear it when I
Take a shower
Reading the paper.
Iâd look up and see it
Across the valley.
They tore down the Starlight
And down at the end of the road
Built a big Dayâs Inn.
Blocks the view.
But I know that roadâs still there
I can feel it wherever I go.
Whatever Iâm doing
It knows that Iâm still here.
And it's waitinâ.
We are abandoned.
Lies own the word.
All the pictures and
All the museums
In the world
Are just a sham
Peeking played
By the clever people
Who broke the rules.
Reality is defined by the needs of the
History is rewritten
Faster than it can happen.
Cultureâs a weapon
Thatâs used against us.
Cultureâs a swamp.
And a superstition;
Ignorance and abuse.
Geography is a language
That canât screw up.
And what we add to it
Cannot lie.
Itâs also like a mirror
In which we see ourselves,
Or choose to turn away.
Watch it now.
Watch it.
Watch it.
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