dallas in the mirror.
winter morning, cold as hell.
me and my six string,
no one else.
collar to the wind,
future in the breeze.
hardly seems that far away,
you know what i mean.
highway 59
drove just like a dream.
asphalt tops, yellow lines
still call me...
post office box, poetry, texas
wandering and working,
living off the cuff.
some things never change
i can't get enough.
the train's in kansas city.
new york's a parking lot.
you can tell where i am
by where i'm not.
post office box, poetry, texas.
1 | Push Comes To Shove |
2 | Last Dance at the Last Chance |
3 | Best Is Yet to Come |
4 | Have Not, Will Travel |
5 | 100 Miles from Mexico |
6 | Place to Call Our Own |