| With a backpack full of yesterdays
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| On a freeway full of smoke and haze
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| Where the power lines and fault lines double cross
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| I left our yellow porch light on
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| No one will notice no one’s home
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| And no one else will notice what was lost
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| I lost my home when the deal went bust
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| To the so-called security and trust
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| I planned my life the way they said I should
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| I sent my wife and kids ahead
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| I’m right behind you, so I said
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| I’ll be there when I get there if that’s good
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| Now I’m leaving California for the dust bowl
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| They took it all, there’s nowhere else to go
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| The pastures of plenty are burning by the sea
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| And I’m just a homeland refugee
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| There’s a plastic sack by a barbwire fence
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| A burned out beer truck full of dents
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| A dried up stock pond by an old canal
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| Between the towns the desert sands
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| Filling up with empty cans
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| Container trains, casinos and canals
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| My Grandpa used to tell about
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| The way the bankers drove them out
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| In the wind and the dust in the crash of '29
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| They crossed the desert headed west
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| They swore that it was for the best |
| They reassured the ones they left behind
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| There’s some refugees from Mexico
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| Behind an abandoned Texaco
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| We nod and smile, it’s clear we’re all the same
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| For everything this world is worth
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| We’re all just migrants on this earth
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| Returning to the dust from where we came |