Stained Dirt

Tucked beneath a neon curtain, far beyond those evergreens
The days drag on and the nights are daunting, piney woods said c’est la vie
It’s been a long time with the guitar cases, and longer days with the southern drawl
It smells like rain though you ain’t for certain, cover quick for it feels like home

Could be your conscience, might be your heart
Maybe your lessons learned won’t ever end, for they only start
Could be you’re home so safe, oh though no you can’t take that sound
Or the seeds you’d sown wouldn’t ever grow in the stained dirt of that town

Could be the case could be the concept, so far from home in New Mexico
As the box cars clatter with the matter in your mind, and mill around with your ebb and flow
You’re living and sitting down at the cowsheds, its old school where the guitars play
A spin on words or a spin yourself, either way it’s changed this game

A certain static, it’s in the air, while a simple gleam it caught your eye
You lay to rest that circumstance, as karma comes to take your side
It’s a little shift, a simple shove, night no more the daunting hope
It smells like rain, and you’re quite for certain, you made your bed and found your home