Boots on a highway, mud in the field.
Take it home. Take it home.
Sand in leather, blood on stone.
So far gone.
Paper curls, smoke unfurls.
Ash in a tray.
Green lights on the ceiling. Red lights on the wall.
Up this high, I can see them all.
Even my name has an unfamiliar taste.
The whiskey is just the same.
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 8:13 PM UTC
Boots on a highway, mud in the field.
Take it home. Take it home.
Sand in leather, blood on stone.
So far gone.
Paper curls, smoke unfurls.
Ash in a tray.
Green lights on the ceiling. Red lights on the wall.
Up this high, I can see them all.
Even my name has an unfamiliar taste.
The whiskey is just the same.