| We wiped out all the Buffalo
|
| Around the turn of the last century
|
| And so it’s factories and sawgrass
|
| And wheat fields and asphalt laid in front of me
|
| The Midwest is a hollow place
|
| That we filled with love and industry
|
| We stared at the frozen ground in Goodwill suits
|
| Silent as the pastor reads the eulogy
|
| I wanted to see just a little bit of everything
|
| Let me be two blackbirds on a highway sign
|
| Are laughing at me at four in the morning
|
| They played the war drum out of time
|
| So I’m not sure where I’ve been marching
|
| I wanna be strong, but it’s not easy anymore
|
| I’m hoping I’m wrong
|
| It’s just five hours straight to home
|
| From the town west of Sioux city
|
| And so I searched through my great-grandpa's memoirs
|
| For the devil in my bloodstream
|
| Depression grabbed his throat
|
| And choked the life out of him slowly
|
| I’ve got the same blood coursing through my veins
|
| It’ll come for me eventually
|
| I bet I’d be a fucking coward
|
| I bet I’d never have the guts for war
|
| Cause I can’t spend another month away from here
|
| These frantic rest stop phone calls don’t get answered anymore
|
| But I, I wanted to know if I could please come home
|
| Just let me know
|
| Two blackbirds on a highway sign
|
| Are laughing at me at four in the morning
|
| They played the war drum out of time
|
| So I’m not sure where I’ve been marching
|
| I wanna be strong, but it’s not easy anymore
|
| I’m hoping I’m wrong
|
| I’m hoping I’m wrong |