| I used to hate all my dad’s outlaw country bands
|
| He’d play me when I was young
|
| 'Cause they’d lie through their teeth about the lives they lead
|
| When all I wanted were honest songs
|
| But now they’re anthems in the van
|
| And we’re screaming them out on the highway
|
| For good luck
|
| In the bright blistering sun
|
| Runnin' toward the light
|
| On the shoulder of a dream
|
| I’m singing in my sleep
|
| Runnin' toward the light
|
| I stagger through the streets
|
| I sing it in my sleep
|
| Cream fights through truck-stop coffee here in the quiet purple dawn
|
| Last night we played another highway bar, for the first time they sang along
|
| Spray paint a '20' up on the over pass
|
| Like a blood pact for the drifters we’ve become
|
| In the soft burgeoning sun
|
| Runnin' toward the light
|
| On the shoulder of a dream
|
| I’m singing in my sleep
|
| Runnin' toward the light
|
| I stagger through the streets
|
| I sing it in my sleep
|
| This is for Rosa, and Catherine
|
| And Mom and Dad
|
| And this is for Robert, and Jesse
|
| And the Thunderbird staff
|
| I’m gonna make you proud of me
|
| I’m gonna make you proud of me
|
| I’m gonna make you proud of me
|
| Runnin' toward the light
|
| On the shoulder of a dream
|
| I’m singing in my sleep
|
| Runnin' toward the light
|
| I stagger through the streets
|
| I sing it in my sleep |