On the Short Drive

When I awoke, I was a whore, quietly gathering my clothes
Checking my memory for holes
Slowly picking out my gravestone
But no one speaks of all that broken glass you left
Or the light that projects
Home videos inside the backs of our heads
On the road in our Sunday best

On the short drive to the cemetery
I'm still tongue-tied with last night's whiskey
You just got worn down like a denim jacket
In this ghost town, it's hard to know when to quit
Now I don't know when to quit

’Cause when I was home, I swore you were there
But you sunk like a stone, and I’m stuck in midair
So where did you go?
Where did you go if you’re not home?

Oh, ’cause I still want those old books
That pulled the flagpoles from my mind
And all that poetry I'll need
When death finally arrives
And it came slow as rust for you
So you got a good look in its eyes
So then you got your last rites
And now I’ve got my knife fights
And the nights, oh, dear God, the nights

On the short drive to the cemetery
I still taste like all of last night's whiskey
I know I'm worn down more than I'd like to admit
But in this ghost town, it's hard to know when to quit
You just never know when to quit

So when I get home, I'll still see you there
With your eyes pulled closed, like you were finally prepared
So what did you know?
What did you know that I still don't?

Oh, I’m catching up with you
At least I’m trying to
Yeah, I’ve been feeling those flames creep up on me

So when I get home, it won’t be there
Just the end of a road, just ash everywhere
So what is a home?
What is a home?
Oh, I used to know