me debunk an american myth? and take my life in my hands? where the great plains begin, at the hundredth meridian. at the hundredth meridian, where the great plains begin driving down a corduroy road, weeds standing shoulder high ferris wheel is rusting off in the distance at the hundredth meridian where the great plains begin left alone to get gigantic; hard, huge and haunted a generation so much dumber than its' parents came crashing through the window. a raven strains along the line of the road, carrying a muddy, old skull. the wires whistle their approval, off down the distance. at the hundredth meridian where the great plains begin i remember, i remember buffalo and i remember hengelo it would seem to me i remember every single bloody, warm and horrible thing i know ['bucking thing'] if i die of vanity, promise me, promise me, they bury me someplace i don't want to be, you'll dig me up and transport me, unceremoniously, away from the swollen city-breeze, garbage-bag trees, whispers of disease amd the acts of enormity and lower me slowly, sadly and properly get ry cooder to sing my eulogy, at the hundredth meridian where the great plains begin.
