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The sun was comin' up over the hill |
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Or maybe it's not, |
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I can't even tell |
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But there's a warmth on my face that isn't the blood |
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And my tears are turnin' the snow into mud |
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And I can't feel my left leg but |
|
I think it's still there |
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Did I kill anybody? |
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Hell, I never fight fair |
|
What state am |
|
I in? Am I still on the run? |
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Has it really been so long since |
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I've seen the sun? |
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My instincts are tellin' me to pick up and go |
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But I can't feel my fingers and |
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I can't move my toes |
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There's a drained |
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Bourbon bottle layin' next to my head |
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And the piss and the vomit are the sheets on my bed |
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Is it you? |
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Could it be you? |
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Don't want it to |
|
I went out all night drinking, so |
|
I took the bait |
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And I jumped off the interstate to |
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Highway 8To the bars full of girls who all know me by name |
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They all drink the same drinks and they all fuck the same |
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Now my eyes are turnin' red in this hotel bar |
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And she's breathin' out smoke as she motions towards the door |
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The kindness of a stranger or a trick of the trade? |
|
God knows, |
|
I'm not the first mistake that she's made |
|
Is it you? |
|
Could it be you? |
|
Don't want it to |
|
Is it you? |
|
Could it be you? |
|
Don't want it to |
|
I been down and out, |
|
I been spit on for so long |
|
I stored my shame in my belly, 'til |
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I needed to be strong |
|
And my last guilty moment, stole a map and a truck |
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It's pure chance that |
|
I haven't already been picked up |
|
But from here on the slate's clean, |
|
I'm headin' way south |
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Always heard the girls were pretty there, |
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I got to find out |
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Look ma, your son's a travelin' man |
|
I don't know what |
|
I did, now |
|
I'll do all the good |
|
I canCould it be you? |
|
Could it be you? |
|
Could it be you? |
|
Could it be you? |
|
Could it be you? |
