by 2 .15 I'm stretched out in the backseat on a broken highway
Vinyl seats that stick to you in summer,
now hard and cold on my face
A rush to beat the traffic,
that means nothing at six years old
Dad is not a father, he's a dad
So every cigarette he lights,
And a burst of cold returns
AM filled with static, so erratic
Songs will break and fade away
Your mom is all alone, or minus one, ten years later,
She's stretched out in the back seat with
her head on our belongings.
I will drive the distance on a learner's license,
The puppy I had asked for when I took ad vantage of the situation,
Though I felt a little guilty,
Disney's on the front seat, by the window,
ever hopeful to break away.
Full mile markers each a minute
Out where billboards are the only landmarks
I can't wait till I don't
oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh...
I never spend much time in a rich man's house,
not by choice anyway, but I get to live in
a basement and sleep on a waterbed and watch cable,