"Well I’m sick of this town, this blind man’s forage. They take your dreams down and stick them in storage, you can have them back son when you’ve paid off your mortgage and loans.
Oh hell with this place, I’ll go it my own way. I’ll stick out my thumb and I trudge down the highway. Someday someone must be going my way home.
'Till then I’ll make my bed from a disused car with a mattress of leaves and a blanket of stars and I’ll stitch the words into my heart with a needle and thread.”"