turn home from bars and weaving closets full

of stuttered turns when pedals redden roads

we'd pass through farms, the orchards are aligned

it looks too slow as we lay against the floor


the green fury becomes a monument

slips off the road and new years become new lines

we didn't see the lights against the sky

we didn't see we were too far up the road


it's how canadians must feel

everything they see is real

my palms were made to match my eyes

it's how canadians watch days 

in a million different ways 

and i am for the northern side


watch the signs turn into lines