Black, muddy,
Stormy night, the lot behind
An abandoned superstore,
Trucks, cars, and crotch rockets,
I drove back across the Midwest for Thanksgiving,
They were all leaving,
I had chased some,
Across the mountains of New Zealand, Ireland, something
Between the two, Iceland, perhaps,
This was the end of my journey,
But I was going home,
Hero's clocked out,
Some rain, trees in the wind,
I was going home,
I was going home.
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