He used to always sing me straight to sleep
But come morning sun I realized he wasn’t that deep
A pretty boy picture perfect but only to the skin
But a pretty voice that made me not care if it’s sin

So one day I couldn’t stand it any more
I picked up my things and headed for the door
I kept singing to myself it’s a type of new day
As I ground pounded until I found my own way

So a thumb to the wind and a lover left behind
He could get me everything that money could find
But sadly enough ‘if only he had a brain’
So I made the decision to hop the next train

Now I’m running from my baby and his pretty voice
For what it’s worth he was really all noise
And that door didn’t squeak a bit on my way out
And no that door didn’t squeak as I headed out

I ended up in Cali wearing worn down boots
Trying to find something for myself in my own roots
I found a surfer boy who could ride more then waves
But every time I meet them it ends up the same

Yeah every time I meet them it winds up the same

I was playing my guitar on the pier when I figured it out
That boy just didn’t know what life is about
Well all he knew was his suntan and his own pretty face.
Then I picked up my shit and left that sunny place

If it’s any better he didn’t even look around
He didn’t even realize that I was thumbing out of town
No he never figured out what life was really for
And there was no squeaking for there was no door

Now I’m running from my baby and his pretty face
For what it’s worth he was only really a phase
And that door didn’t squeak a bit on my way out
And no that door didn’t squeak as I headed out

The trains are whistling my favorite damn tune
There are no words but it has lingering sort of blues
And the trains are a-whistling, there’s something in the air
Her name is Robin and she has lovely dreaded hair

She’s an activist from New England, I found her in Nevada.
We rode those trains together and lived off enchiladas
We drank cheap beer and slept next to fires
But then I realized that type of girl only had desires

There ain’t no substance to that type of woman
Just fleeting decisions and open country romance
Yeah she really made me happy as long as I could hold her
But I only made her happy when I was holding the liquor
Oh yes that type of girl will drown herself until you dive in
And then you’ve got to realize that it only goes to her skin

So I left her one night after she drank herself to sleep
Mumbling to myself that everything’s only skin deep
I left her with a note saying I was headed to home
And that it was a road I would have to walk alone

Oi yes there are some roads you just gotta walk alone
One of those roads is finding yourself a home

I hear she’s still lost in her bottle, in some sketchy place
Much like that boy was just so lost in his face
And I hear she still whistles along with that train
And that boy will never find himself a real brain.

So I sang my song to that old country road
I ain’t got a lover and don’t know what they’re for
I know how to ride the rails and sing myself to sleep
And darling I know myself more then just skin deep.

Note: as one might be able to tell this intended to be a song. But as I
currently suck balls at the guitar, and keep breaking my strings *shakes
fist at gimpy guitar in corner* the actual music part of this won't happen
for sometime.
 
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