Folks up in Nashville think it's really special when you write a song by yourself. They're taking meetings at 10 in the morning and I just don't need that much help. So I spent a week or two in Colorado, and I hoped I'd see you somewhere. And I met this girl who was playing the cello who looked like you'd look if you had lavender hair.

From Motor City to Music Row, I've seen love come, seen love go.
Years go by. There's so much shame. I stutter when I say your name.

One time in Memphis there was a young man lost in the windows and blowing off work, staring at big rigs out there on the 40 and longing for more than the way that it hurt. He dreamed about sounds and he dreamed about highways and sweet validation in lonely spot lights. He watched his girl slip away to another. She left him with words so with words he did write.

From Motor City to Music Row, I've seen love come, seen love go.
Years go by. There's so much shame. I stutter when I say your name.

All of your memories will end in disaster. Oblivion runs through whatever your after. And if there's an answer it gets much harder to see.

I turned 34 in the start of the summer, the last of the spring time, the best one I've known. We spent the fall in the heart of the bunker, but after that Christmas the magic was gone. So I left Las Cruces one September morning, heading for Tucson and Flagstaff for shows. It was me and the Driver, and a Mexican hauler was sliding beside us, and there's rain up the road.

From Motor City to Music Row, I've seen love come, seen love go.
Years go by. There's so much shame. I stutter when I say your name.