Pulled over at middayThe joker's still wet behind the earsHe hands off a novel of novice citationsOutside the service stationThe glue sets beneath our heelsMy baby's in MassachusettsAnd all this booze is uselessSunset sing my scratched out sighing soul to sleepAnd the cashier here is ruthlessJeanette, I wrote your name downBut I'd hate that job as much as you doIf I was stuck between Barton and Bighamton tooDays like this I miss listening to recordsMaking coffee together, snow globes and jersey sheetsI tried sleeping in our bed without you last nightBut that didn't work at all because I couldn't sleepSometimes I wish it was still last summerAnd you still lived in South PhillyAnd I wasn't playing a show in NebraskaOr Austin, TexasAsking the kids what they ate for breakfastBut here I am, Valero bathroomWho's paid to keep these things cliche?Bury me beneath New York StateBecause it's the only place where I feel dead
