A passenger traveling quietly conceals himself
With a magazine and a sleepless pillow
Over the crest of the mountain the moon begins its climb
And he wakes to find he's in rolling farmland
The farmer sleeps against his wife
He wonders what their life must be
A Trailways bus is heading south
Into Washington, D.C.
A mother and child, the baby maybe two months old
Prepare themselves for sleep and feeding.
The shadow of the Capitol dome slides across his face
And his heart is racing with the urge to...
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