The car's on the side of the road the engine's still running
You stop to watch the log drop and the whole ceremony
And everything you believed about superstition was about to be proven
all the great esoteric carvings would come alive somehow
Afternoon sun dying gracefully with the day
You could have driven straight home alas curiosity won
The fierce ghosts of the past all etched into that wood
will fall and become part of the canoe
You should of thought about the grim accumulation of curses
for naiive tourists it couldn't be worse
You may have your little neck charms your tattooed arms and social karma
Yet here's a ritual symbolic of destruction
A ritual designed to dry up all your luck
So back to your car which you left running
down the road you go but the motor is moaning
You are out of fuel and the town has few gas stations
Sunday's log dropped and you're stranded in a strange town
So you leave your car, your log, your ride
To find some gasoline before the fall of night
Long haired teen boys idle near the pumps
Their heads are joined to the sky they can't hear you or help you
If you hadn't been dabbling in log drops this kind of witchcraft couldn't manifest!
Me I travelled 60,000 miles in one night on the shape of my face as a surfboard
and witnessed it all behind my eyes quiet slow motion
The whizzes and the pans in the dark before dawn
are the little snacks that I adore
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