Routine was the theme He'd wake up wash and pour himself into uniform Something he hadn't imagined being As the merging traffic passed he found himself staring down at his own hands Not remembering the change Not recalling the plan Was it? He was okay but wondering about wandering Was it age? By consequence? Or was he moved by sleight of hand? Mondays were made to fall Lost on a road he knew by heart Wrapped in the same old walls It was like a book he read in his sleep, endlessly Sometimes he hid in the radio watching other pull into their homes While he was drifting On a line of his own Off the line, on the side Bye the by, as dirt turned to sand As if moved by sleight of hand When he reached the shore of his clip-on world He resurfaced to the norm Organized his few things, his coat and keys Any new realizations would have to wait Til he had more time, more time Time to dream, to himself, he waves goodbye to his own self See you on the other side Another man, moved by sleight of hand