Almost Home

Miles of empty skies and ever-winding streets
So incomplete and all alone
When I close my eyes, I always see your face
I hear your voice, I’m almost home
Well, I’ve always been an in-and-out sorta fella
And my mind gets to roamin', I guess
But when I’m far away, I can still see that day
And you in that little white dress
Remember that flat tire out on Route 41?
We had to thumb a ride in the rain
And when we swimming naked in your old man’s pond
Drunk and singing «Sweet Dream»?
Miles of empty skies and ever-winding streets
So incomplete and all alone
When I close my eyes, I always see your face
I hear your voice, I’m almost home
Those lonely bus-station nights
Always checking fights
Wrapped up in my sleeping bag beneath the city lights
Another rest stop
Another toll
Another time zone
Another bowl