i m driving the car but i m not the owner i m moving the car ever so slowly it hums the engine like science fiction crossing the field in staccato i m driving the car but i m not the owner i m moving the car ever so slowly it hums the engine like science fiction and crossing the field in staccato jessies on it the pen in her hand jessies on it the pen in her hand jessies on it the pen in her hand jessies on it the pen in her hand the fly is growing it s exponential stretching the fur helium latex the seconds are days and then much older climbing ladders up then deflating jessies on it the pen in her hand jessies on it the pen in her hand jessies on it the pen in her hand jessies on it the pen in her hand jessies on it the end is near jessies on it the end is near jessies on it the end is near jessies on it the end is near this woman i know she s ripping paper pointing at her mumbling nirvana she s figured it out in bits and pieces the fragments of good outweigh the rocky jessies on it the pen in her hand jessies on it the pen in her hand jessies on it the pen in her hand jessies on it the pen in her hand jessies on it the end is near jessies on it the end is near but knowing that it isn t here remembering the balloon man the balloon man the balloon man the balloon man the balloon man