Wasted broke in Kankakee,
  down from Montreal
I’m half way to Memphis,
  with no one left to call

Guitar strings bust or missing,
  motel clerk at my door
I’m half way to Memphis,
  bathroom window as before

The years have run their distance,
  all memories in default
I’m half way to Memphis,
  the songs all packed in salt

And one last time I’m leaving,
  the highway cold and black
I’m half way to Memphis
   —no way of turning back

(Memphis Tennessee: September, 1991)