Dave Rawlings Machine - The Trip lyrics

Whistles blowing, people get on trains Without knowing where they're going Someone's daughter, someone's sister, someone's teacher going down the road With a body, a handkerchief, and a hatchet from an unspeakable crime But there's no one waiting for them, there's no judgement down the line Banjos ring and chickens squall, and little babies crow The winter leaves, and the spring unwinds, and summer comes again you know Pink is the color of my true love's dress, and black is the color of her heart But I could never leave old Virgini', and so it never parts Ebony face, ebony nails, ebony coffin on the rails Moving south, C-O-D, going home to mother Some said for valor, for glory, for treasure, for pride Sometimes brother hates brother [Chorus] So take a trip wherever your conscience has to roam It's much too hard to try to live a lie at home My boots are cracked with road dirt and asphalt, spit, and broken dreams Chewing gum and safety pins, all what hold me in at the seams My pegs are loose, my screws too tightly wound to get in tune But I still try sometimes on those golden summer afternoons [Chorus] So take a trip wherever your conscience has to roam It's much too hard to try to live a lie at home [Instrumental solo] There's a picture of an old black man, in a beaver hat He wears a hidden smile and a pair of white spats Don't pretend you didn't notice his stare You're edgy, and sweating, and loaded for bear The skeletons dance tonight, bring your bottle and your boots And your mandolin that Bianca Alatorre tried to shoot Oh but what's a bullet hole or two between friends? And who can say when the well goes dry where the story ends? [Chorus] So take a trip wherever your conscience has to roam It's much too hard to try to live a lie at home [Instrumental solo] Hotel lives and hotel wives that come and go with the sheets But what's a marriage if it can't be held up to kitchen heat? Once I knew each valley and that beautiful shore But I don't go to the summer fair much anymore [Chorus] So take a trip wherever your conscience says to roam It's much too much to try and live a lie at home Your harmonica is blow baby, throw it away Your denim shirt is ragged and your dirty collar is frayed I tried to play my horn for you, but I couldn't seem to find a note So I picked up pen and paper, and this is what I wrote [Chorus] Go take a trip wherever your conscience has to roam It's much too hard to try to live a lie at home [Instrumental solo]