(P.Mark)
From the album Metropolitan Swamp

Daybreak pushing through the windshield
Heading towards the city scene
Driving home you’re ten years older
Looking to lose yourself in sleep
But you wake up wrestling at midnight
With all the wrong dreams

Radio is pushing product
Murder lessons on TV
In between the voices tell you
Go out and buy what you don’t need
There’s a fortune to be made, buddy
Pitching all the wrong dreams

Headlights screaming down the highway
Tires halting to a screech
Metal crashing in the distance
Smoke rising through the trees
Who’s to say what’s lost and what’s found
In all the wrong dreams