We drive through the golden hour
Through Texas, south of Austin
We passed the denture store
Of a small rocky town
And I saw the lives of two
A farmer and his wife
Who worked this same land
That we simply pass through.
All of their lives
Their hands turned hard
From being weathered by the soil
From the taste of dirt on their brow

Such a simple life
They had a porch swing
But recently changed them for
Rocking chairs
And they watch with us
That same sunset
As the sky turns to rust