Well, the roads are frozen mud & the world has come a part
It all hangs in the balance of a single spark
I don't know if she'll crank...they say it's 10 below
And that's a lot to ask...from an old beat up Ford
Was it all just a fool errand...This dream about the land?
A small farm and a few kids & a wife to hold hands
First the drought & then the dust, till there's really nothing left
The the banker-man w/ a gold watch & a gold cross on his vest
And I'm sorry
But everything keeps turning
I'm sorry
I couldn't keep the home fires burning
Fled the heartland for California in this beat-up truck
We had Jesus on the dashboard; but it may not be enough
Roads are frozen mud & God, this is a different kind of cold
And that's a whole lot to ask my friend from an old beat up Ford
And I'm sorry
But everything keeps turning
I'm sorry
I couldn't keep the home fires burning
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