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