Sitting on a cement bench
on the front porch, late at night.
It's dark outside, cars pass by,
bugs fly underneath street lights.
A horn is honked in Europe
and heard over in Maine.
Someone squeals their tires real loud
and it echoes through to Spain.
And it kind of makes you wonder
just how small the world might be.
How we are confined to just one place
because our minds won't float to sea.
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