This here town don’t have no stoplights
This town’s got just one bar
Through this town the Burlington Northern
Tears through the night coal in the cars

This town built a three block main street
All the essentials all in a row
Grain feed, land titles, and groceries
And a theater for the picture show

Tonight I sleep in an old motel room
Circa 1950‘s, got an awful smell
The bed I lie on is tilted sideways
Threadbare bedspread worn to hell

This town’s full of vacant houses
Missing shingles broken dreams
Rain blows through the empty windows
Like a vagrant whistle screams

Pigeons roost on elevators
Sentinels of a grain fed land
Rain became the revelator
And grew the food into our hands

This here town don’t have no Wal-Mart
But I seen stars & stripes come nigh
Bearing down with every trucker
Rolling over sand hills high

This town is either drunk or sober
This town’s neither sweet nor young
This town’s made of love and trouble
And of drifters on the run

© Dana Robinson, Threshold Music