[Verse 1: Lee Ranaldo]
Ah, he did what he had to do
He asked no questions, he had few conversations
The tar glistens in the noon heat
He tread across the grass up onto and down off of the concrete abutments Mirage on the highway, ghosts in the tunnel, the dark cave
Out into the blinding light of the day, at breakneck speed
Every bolt rumbling, glistening highway mirage groans
The slick surface, careening into first the small mammal, and then screeching along the guard rail, scraping paint and throwing sparks like sheets of pure terror for four-hundred yards
Over and over
With one final back and forth rocking motion, coming to rest
Wait!

[Verse 2: Lee Ranaldo]
The beautiful paint job hopelessly marred, smoke and flames
Alright, so nice
He moved to the small creature
Screeching whistles of steam blowing off, on its back, wheels spinning like a cinema classic
The door sags open, and a man covered in blood drops the three feet or so to the pavement
The car still rattling and shaking as if with a mind all its own, unwilling to die
The man, 40-ish, also after a time, an agonizingly painful period of time
Is also unwilling to die

[Verse 3: Lee Ranaldo]
Suddenly, all is quite quiet and there in the sunlight, on the highway
But what? What can I do? I cannot move, everything is about broken
Blood everywhere, mixing with oil and gas
What's moving? Must turn my head. Pain. White light. Blinded
Some guy there kneeling in the blinding mirage of white light
All my strength to "Hey!"
Screaming now, help me please
He tried to tamp out a bit of the burning ember that had leapt from the wreck onto his grimy coat sleeve
Coughing blood, what's happening? He's... he's... inching towards truth
He strode off into the woods with the animal, it still lived
He didn't glance back at all...
[Verse 4: Lee Ranaldo]
Still out ghosting the road
Death on the highway
Words crumble around me and fall with the weight of heaven
I can not move
I am beneath the great weight
I can not see
My eyes are blinded
I am in the darkness
That's it

[Outro: Mike Watt and Thurston Moore]
I forget it, in despair I need it
I shouldn't laugh...
Really... In panic I forget it, in despair I need it, in my mind I save it, and in death I have it
Never gave a damn about the meter man 'til I was the man who got to read the meters, man