It's a busted old town. On the plains of West Texas. The drugstore's closed down. The river's run dry. The semis roll through. Just like stainless steel stallions.
Time for the singer. Time for the singer boy to make his way home. A prodigal I've been distressed. This lonely child can't make it on his own. I've been traveling states away.
It's a long stretch of highway at midnight in New Mexico. It's a small colored light that shines from your car radio. It's the old motel owner who sleeps on a cot.