I'm blurred around the edges
As I'm driving into Dallas
And each light along the strip stretch
Is a punched-in, plastered palace
And the way is painted by the light
You say your wake up point is 6 o'clock
Mine must be 8, because the light seems over
And the sun seems overhead
Or is that just the strip of lights?
Along the interstate, I drive down ...
Then, the sides aren't on the free mile
And where the tape taped up ...
And coins counted in the coffee
By the way, the weakest tastes all right
You say your check out point is yellow-brown
Mine must be twenty times as light
But sugar and some flavored creamers
Make it taste slightly better
I could almost drink it all
Sometimes, we'd drive for hours
Fucking bored and pissed it's Saturday
And the town just seemed deserted
And the radio was shit
But the road was automatic
And the night was just incredible
With the headlights, inner hell
While the fields have all been stripped
And the tape is Operation Ivy
Sing, it's beautiful, I must say
I wouldn't have it any other way
If I said different, that would be a lie
If I said different, that would be a lie
That's the way I felt on that one night
I felt better; I felt happier
In cheering crowds, I felt alone
I am alone right now
But I remember April 9th