Hit the road and you ignite
Just add Pabst and eyes grow wild
I know this town has got you down
and you can't take the pain she brings,
so fuck old friends you've got four here,
tight like strings
We may never make sense to them
Because of who we are,
because of what we do
But what good are they anyway,
when we can only cry on tour?
Now you're fighting the need to be alone,
because a hundred miles outside your calling zone,
there's a bed, a dog, and a girl you once called Home
But like all good things, they must end,
so just tough it out with your dirty friends
How good were "things" anyway?
When the pretense won't wash away?
And these cigarettes are smoking you
And the sex is doing nothing
And it seems there is no medicine, just that cliched Open Road
We've been sitting here too long Lets go
I know this town has got you down,
and you can't take the pain she brings
Fuck old friends, you've got four here, tight like strings