The critics sit back and burn the souls   The classic dies they won't let go   LBJ's lonely inked face on a set of presidential matchbooks   On the wood of our leader's desk   Am I an intercom for faith?   On a Japanese estate   If it's less than a license plate   There's a chance I'll resonate   Memories fade where do they go?   I'm not talking but I'm listening   Plus the means are awful bold   I'm not waiting but Im hoping   For something to playpen   Solitude is a symphony for me   Took the long road home last night   Silhouette on an open mic   Watching fingers move in flight   No need for sleep   We say good-bye   Everything's so clear   A painful enduance   Whispers in those ears   A secret's safe journey   After all those years   Intimate planning   Voices cease the tears