I can’t find a trace of my south
I’ve been driving around in circles for years now
These little railroad towns are so strangely lit at sundown

I’m the wind in the weeds
I’m a stir in the leaves

I can’t find my way through this maze
Of the pace and the space and the grace in decay
I can’t bear to stay
I can’t leave and I can’t look away

I’m the wind in the weeds
I’m a stir in the leaves
I’m the light through the hole in the hat in your hand
I’m a wandering soul
I’m a vanishing man
A vanishing man

I chain-smoke till dawn
By the green glow of the dash and the cell phone
I let the seek keep cycling on
Bursting preachers and Spanish and static and songs
And I don’t have a home
I still don’t have a home
Just when you think I’m in the palm of your hand
You’ll hear clattering bottles and rattling cans
I’m a ghost in the grandstand
A sackful of wind
I’m a bat in the rafters
And a rat in the tin
In the cool before dawn
I’m a creak and a groan
I’m a breath on the back your neck and I’m gone
I’m so goddamn alone

I’m a pall of unease
I’m the wind in the weeds
I’m the light through the hole in the hat in your hand
I’m a wandering soul
I’m a vanishing man
A vanishing man
A magnificent man
Such a frail little man
I’m a terrified man