Every once in awhile, I do drift homewards
Sometimes I drive, sometimes I just dream
400 miles in six hard pushing hours
To check on a life that is just out of reach
I think of a child sleeping by open windows
Two miles away there's this bar on a hill
Playing conjunto into the small hours
It drifts cross the plowed fields and his window sill
I like the sound of a Mexican bass run
I like the feel that it puts in my bones
Sometimes I wonder how I ever got here
I'm just trying to get home
I traded rattlers and scorpions for roaches