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 sleight of hand?      Mondays were made to fall   Lost on a road he knew by heart   It was like a book he read in his sleep, endlessly   Sometimes he hid in his radio   Watching others pull into their homes   While he was drifting      On a line   Of his own   Off the line   Off the side   By 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   Till he had more time   More time      A time to dream   To himself   He waves goodbye   To himself   I'll see you on the other side   Another man moved by sleight of hand