Just like you, I couldn't wait to leave this place.
We drew lines across the map from point A to
anywhere we'd rather be but here.
We kept bags packed in the backseat, ready
To leave at a moment's notice, if we decided
Memphis called our names louder than
our worried mothers and fathers could scream.

You and I put ten thousand miles on that car;
We knew we were getting nowhere, but
we couldn't get there fast enough.
You told me we were born with gypsy blood,
ready to run.
I almost thought we were scared to stay in this **** town,
with the cobweb legacies and long-standing rivalries.

We weren't a tragic Romeo and Juliet, we could have been
together forever in a white house with a picket fence.
We could have had a family here, two kids and a hound dog,
beer on Friday nights with our friends
who swore they knew we were meant to be from the moment we met
when I was in love with your best friend and you
were scared to touch me.

I was a hurricane.
You were colder weather.
We had a whirlwind time, tearing up the country
and leaving our traces all over trailer parks.
You made fun of my metaphors, then told your worst story
that ended like our relationship-
without warning, with unexplained wildlife
and scabs on your knees.

This is not a mystery.
There is no hidden meaning here, to be examined
by critics and explained.
There is only country music lyrics and the lives of petty thieves.
This is not an expose on the triumph of human souls.
This is you and me.

This is fishing in the dark, caving in a blizzard,
running from the man with a banjo.
This is skinny-dipping in freezing water under the cliff
when you couldn't get me to dive in
and you proposed from the water.
I was so surprised, I fell.

This is not a mystery.
We are not an allegory or a parable
about the fallacies of human nature and the transience of lust.
We are lost souls: the classic drifters, who were born too late
to be outlaws.
You said this is progress,
the Industrial Revolution and the end of us.

I stood you up, and I'm sorry.
You had made your bed, so I ran
and you slept with her instead.
You found salvation in the Bible, while I had a
shot glass revival.
There was silence on the telephone lines-
I couldn't dial the number, and you never tried to call.

We were born to run, and we were scared to stay.
I stood you up, and I'm sorry.
You never loved me, and you're sorry.
All we ever say is sorry. You knew I stood you up, but
you were too proud to ask me to stay.
We kept the car packed because we were born to run,
but we always turned around just before we hit the interstate.

We were born to run, with gypsy souls and anxious hearts.
Fresno, California called our names, and we knew we could hit Memphis
in less than a tank of gas and half a day.
This is not a mystery, this is simply the fact
that I left before you made up your mind.
You had made your bed, but you weren't ready to sleep.
And this isn't about you. It's not a mystery to be deciphered.
I'm just tired of driving, and I wish you'd called.