There's a thousand black cars
|
Driving around in my blood stream
|
I'd have to take a thousand pills
|
To find out where their headlights lead.
|
Is it cold New York?
|
Is it freezing in your bed?
|
Because I caught a deep chill
|
When I went over the Hudson again.
|
It's alright, counting city lights,
|
Where the Turnpike divides,
|
Waving goodbye to my former life.
|
I don't want to be a self-medicator
|
But it's hard to sleep when you're born to run.
|
I'm sick of living life in the Garden State Trap
|
But all the roads are pointing home again.
|
Holy Cross has got a headstone all picked out for me
|
And my only job is to walk around until I fall down at it's feet.
|
Maybe home is just the place you can never escape:
|
From the Camden City graves to the edge of the Palisades
|
It's alright, counting city lights,
|
Where the Turnpike divides,
|
Waving goodbye to my former life.
|
I don't want to be a self-medicator
|
But it's hard to sleep when you're born to run.
|
I'm sick of living life in the Garden State Trap
|
But all the roads are pointing home again.
|
And I'll be counting the city lights
|
Blinking on and off tonight as life passes by
|
And I'm left behind, standing on the shoulder of the Jersey Turnpike.
|
Buildings seem to rise like coffins full of stars getting buried in the sky.
|
You want to laugh and dance... to be free? Well, alright--
|
I've been thinking about those days I wanted to sleep
|
And you'd wake me up just before you'd leave
|
And I'd fall back into a dream:
|
Walking in fresh city snow that you'd never seen
|
And I'd never leave your side.
|
|
-----------------
|
Turnpike Divides
|
| Thursday |
