Crash Pad

You can see for yourself how it is— Why bother asking me?

There are plenty of them here, I know that much.

But it's hard to know just who Is coming or going—

Someone's always on his way back To Hackensack or Utica,

Somebody else has just blown in With the afternoon rain—

So I've given up keeping track Of names and phone numbers.

Besides, I make no connections, Seldom leave this place.

Make of it what you will yourself, I've got my own problems:

While everyone drifts through, I'm Wondering what to do

With the continent that's growing In my socks.