| Is this the life you chose yourself
|
| Or just how it ended up?
|
| Is that the yard you pictured when
|
| You closed your eyes and dreamed
|
| Of children in the grass running through the sprinklers?
|
| Being somebody’s wife?
|
| Or were you living in another life?
|
| When will I make it home?
|
| When I damn well feel like driving
|
| Down these empty streets
|
| That burn though our birthright
|
| I passed a couple of kids holding hands in the street tonight
|
| They reminded me of us in another life
|
| Am I the man of your desire?
|
| Or just a guy from your hometown?
|
| Are these the arms that you saw when you
|
| Pictured yourself wrapped around?
|
| Baby, I can vouch for the hopeless dreamer
|
| When you look at me, am I the man you hoped I’d be?
|
| When will I make it home?
|
| When that jukebox in the corner
|
| Stops playing country songs of stories that sound like mine
|
| I spent my best years laying rubber on a factory line
|
| I wonder what I would’ve been in another life
|
| In another life
|
| In another life
|
| In another life |