#85 FOUR MILES PAST EXIT EIGHTEEN
#85 FOUR MILES PAST EXIT EIGHTEEN
(Americana)
(DEMO)
(Full Arrangement)
Edge of the bed, fighting the spins.
Too much last night, tried to numb the empty.
He's sweet -- only says it, doesn't mean it.
Coffee, then packing -- no time for laundry.
This great escape ain't going like I planned it,
Mud-streaked culvert is where I've landed.
Out of love, out of luck, out of gasoline,
Stranded four miles past exit eighteen.
He wakes up just as I finish packing,
Pressing hard to shut my car trunk lid.
He says it softly, head down -- heart's not in it.
A quick hug, tell him "Wasn't anything you did."
Running away ain't going like I planned it,
Mud-streaked culvert is where I've landed.
Out of love, out of luck, out of gasoline,
Dead stop four miles past exit eighteen.
Maybe back to the mountains, work the ski season.
Great tips if you're good at people-pleasin'.
Could visit Julie, Texas coast -- she's bartending.
Tell myself I've got options. Damn near unending!
Brand new start ain't nowhere near like I planned it,
Stupid mud-streaked culvert is where I've landed.
Skipping rocks into a dirty little stream,
Out of love, out of luck, out of gasoline,
Just waiting, four miles past exit eighteen.
After an hour, a grey truck pulls over,
Shares some gas, asks me where I'm going.
Start to answer, but then stop myself,
Say instead "Right now, no way of knowing."