I'm in a pressed grey suit todaynhard chair and pistachio tiled floornbrown metal, tan plastic, dry eyesnthis is anything but fantasticnnI'm in a different state todaynalthough everything is such a borendriving hundreds of miles, trash stackednin perfect pilesnnI'm in a pressed grey suit todaynhard chair and pistachio tiled floornbrown metal, tan plastic, dry eyes, it's fantasticnso how come you can't see that anymore?nnI'm in a different state todaynalthough everything is such a borendriving hundreds of miles, trash stacked in perfect pilesnanother run-down and deserted country storennI'm in the chalk white sun todaynout of time and I really need a little morenuntied, unwound, can't sleep through silent soundnI'll just lie around until it's 3 or 4nnI'm not so comfortable todaynrough upholstery sinks into its corenthread bare, completely worn bucket seatnpassing by another hitch-hiking and trucker-loving whorennI'm sitting on the porch and I'm staring at the stepsnyou balled a fist and you have thrown it 'cause you're depressednthis tiny growing town is lonesome at its bestnget back in that old car and I'll keep driving I guess