I only knew you from
three months of tour and a cellular phone.
We talked of the Midwest
and I learned of all that you left behind.
Oh, and the loss runs deep.
Your father and a friend,
a rug pulled from your feet,
But I'll try and give you a place
to lay your tired head and hide your only face.
There's a bed waiting for you.
There's a light that I left on.
There's a purpose for the distance
and the things that I've done wrong
You came to stay with us.
A weekend up south [?]
you weren't missing much.
The day that you left it rained,
and the cold weather up north was calling your name.
So I helped to pack your bags,
folding your shirts, the clothes on your back.
Home never felt so far.
In the morning I found sweaters you dropped in my front yard.
There's a bed waiting for you.
There's a light that I left on.
There's a purpose for the distance
and the things that I've done wrong.
There's a place that you live in
a town that you call home.
There's a state that you visit
but you never stay too long.
You're careful how hold yourself.
I know,
you worry what might happen but i swear
it won't.
So I'm waiting for your voice to make a sound,
but i know every word before they leave your mouth.
There's a bed waiting for you.
There's a light that I left on.
There's a purpose for the distance
and the things that I've done wrong.
There's a place that you live in
a town that you call home.
There's a state that you visit
but you never stay too long.