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Everyone's called off the searches |
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Faces that nobody knows |
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The devil is hiding in churches |
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The sun has burned my eyes |
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Got me making that face again |
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I'm driving my dented car in donuts |
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Listening to that same old mixtape, my friend |
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The one that starts and ends |
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With odds and ends and a dumb dance song |
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As a troubled name with a subtle way |
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Is saying that she thinks that I'm handsome |
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As shuttles crash and buildings fall |
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And diseases fly on airplanes |
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I wonder where the romance has gone |
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got us by the purse stings |
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I want to build you a house |
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In the country, with the son of Michael Landon |
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But I want to protect my couch |
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And my collection of rusty handguns |
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It's as tough as nails, as tough as tigers |
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As tough as tricky shots |
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But I believe the dreams of my father |
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It's the only dreams that I've got |
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I've never seen the top |
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Give me a good, solid lay of the land |
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But I guess a guess is just a guess |
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And the first step to finding the facts at hand |
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I hate the bleeding hearts and hard-heads |
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As much as the nervous man hates the taste of a stutter |
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You know what they say: in the land of the blind |
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The man with one eye's on every tabloid cover |
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It's not a case of me vs. the others |
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1,000 monkeys vs. man |
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Before the Lord lays me down to sleep |
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I pray that you'll understand |
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I need my room to breathe |
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My own private patch of dirt |
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Where I can raise my sheep and make my beats |
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And teach my kids to curse |
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I need a sandwich and a hammock |
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But not a butler or a reporter |
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Just a couple good folk to watch my back |
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But never watch over my shoulder |
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It's as pretty as a picture |
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And it stands alone without a frame |
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That's why it sits all silent inside my wallet |
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Waiting for you to see my dreams |
