Four hundred and twelve.

Where is home? I've forgotten.

I live my life from day to day,
From beaten street to street.
All of the street signs in the
World couldn't make me feel less

Lost.

All of the bridges across these rivers
Changing and aging just as quickly as I am.
All of these houses that are all along
These avenues painted with street lamps can't
Make me feel any more warm than I am,
Shaking in my shoes, forking up a couple bucks
To take the bus to the other side of town:
A place to sleep, an all night diner and a cup of coffee.

I stop by the post office to drop off a letter for my folks:
I'm doing well in the big city, mother. I've got a good job.
I'm making my bills on time. I wash my clothes every few days.
But in reality, I'm really not. I make my way around this town
By playing the blues on streets with so much pain in my voice,
I make a few bucks singing to strangers about how hard it is to
Live my life in the city when I'm so used to singing about the
Small town blues and just wanting to escape and find myself there
In the city: where there are millions of people but none of them
Not a single solitary one of them is me.