Sunday Driver

You with a loaded gun, with your guitar and discount wine
And nobody heard your shot ring out and vanish there in the night
But come the morning, they’ll be askin'
Who it was and how it happened
What’s the reason? What’s the boy’s real name?
And then they’ll take you to the square
And cite your false offenses there
Make you leave just as sick as you came
Ooh, they called you a Sunday driver
They cursed you down to the bone
They called you a Sunday driver
They said you don’t belong
Oh, but you got caught at dawn in a monsoon in New Orleans
And you were holding on both coasts, and every city between
And now you’ve lost and every mark links to your skin
And who are they to say what hurt you feel?
And who are they to draw the line
To say what’s yours and what is mine
And who are they to say what’s fake or real?
Ooh, they called you a Sunday driver
They called you a Sunday driver
As if they walked in your shoes
They called you a Sunday driver