listening to my thoughts talk in strange affected accents
done waiting for my youth to get me by
looking for that cloud of rain to burst with sound and vision rage
open arms, empty air
open arms, empty airs

pardon me I make my way
got to get out
to the observation deck I go staring down
pardon me I slip away
I'm going overboard
will I fall to heaven or to the ocean's floor

listening to my thoughts talk soft and gray and delicate
done waiting for the useless march of time
looking for a sweet release to end it lightning quick
open arms, empty air
open arms, empty airs

hurriedly I take my leave
I have no reason
to hang about [bad word] wreck
I know how this will end
don't mind me I always lean this far against the rails
find some joy in guessing when my balance fails
soaring over the brittle earth
roaring over forests of branches bare
overfilled with primal drive
we are the streamline
we are the streamline

listening to my thoughts talk in screaming flight of fancy plots
done waiting for those winds of change
looking for a perfect place to punctuate the rat race
open arms, empty air
open arms, empty airs

pardon me I make my way
have to get out
to the observation deck I go staring down
don't mind me I always seem this far off the rails
find some kind of happiness in all life's little fails
in these cold distances vacant and barren
we are the streamline
we are the streamline
we are the tendrils
we push through the sky-ways