Staring out the window as the world flys by,
With a scarce few clouds in the clear blue sky
I watch the trees swaying in the wind,
Streams bubbling by, trickling and thin.
Birds circling high overhead,
Vultures picking at carcasses of the dead.
Signs going by showing the miles to go.
Cloud figures staring down like cotton snow,
Stripes of white fly underneath,
Streaks of yellow beside of me.
Traveling down this winding road,
Where we're going I'll never know.