Popstar on the Lam

Intelligent map of land,
Scale me out with your thumb.
Add it up for me.

While it rained you rinsed your hands,
Filthy from the ground.
You're not going back there again.

A popstar on the lam,
Run away from home with your Casiotone.
Found asleep in the back with Dad's old tapes.

The country greats all gone.
Bands will never be tight.
So slide me back into my sleeve,
And bury our history.