| This is my first rodeo |
| I’m holding on tight to the rope |
| Don’t know which way this will go |
| An aisle at the convenience store |
| Shoelace gray lottery floor |
| It feels like I’ve been here before |
| The clerk is a man behind glass |
| Behind his eyes is the past |
| Behind him the local news broadcast |
| There are only two ways you can go |
| Away from or back to your home |
| So I picture a gigantic road |
| Where everyone walks to the sun oh |
| This is my first rodeo |
| I’m holding on tight to the rope |
| Don’t know which way this will go |
| Hoping on breakfast downstairs |
| My mom and my brother are there |
| Cinnamon toast in the air |
| The dogs are out back in the snow |
| TV, the clock radio |
| Everything talks in its home |
| As the months are zoomed too far in |
| These pages are pages I’ve read |
| And the places are places I’ve been |
| Oh |
| And today is the same as the rest |
| But sure it’s shaped nonetheless |
| So I stand up and drop off my plate |
| Push out the door to the front gate |
| An aisle on a bus out of town |
| I feel my feet moving me down |
| The bus lifting up off the ground |
| Then the thoughts come and go for awhile |
| The parking lot fades into sight |
| The path to the beach in the streetlight |
| The door pulls the bus driver’s hand |
| The curb pushes up to the sand |
| I step into an alien land |
| Oh |
| Where the sand brush and snow dunes descend |
| And ice water ocean begins |
| And I think I can see to the end |
| The winging the light in the wind |