Iíve been driving under the stars
past meadows glowing midnight green
and through tree tunnels lined with barbed wire fences.
Yellow reflectors mark the defenses
of on-comers flying fast and driving mean,
searching in vain for a fast lane to call their own,
searching in vain for a place to call their home.

Iíve got big city blues in a small town
searching in vain for Victoriaís crown.
And nothing makes sense
and these words donít ring true.
What more can I say or do?
Maybe my dreams left me in a bind.
Maybe itís time to leave this place behind.
Lord knows it never felt like home to me.

Her skyline stretches over the horizon
Beckons me, calls to me at 75 mph.
She shadows me in the heart of her towers,
hidden crevices where her mystique cowers
as it reaches out to embrace the stars.
Truly, some cowboyís dream came true,
but Iím only a gypsy passing through.

On the horizon her skyline glows
as if her silhouette were written in the stars.
Flashes of red and white blood boom-beat-boom in her heart
enlighten me to other mysteries better left in the dark.
Thank you, Trinity, for your directions
and reminding me where I parked my car
down by the river where the roses grow.

Iíve got big city blues in a small town
searching in vain for Victoriaís crown.
Doesnít have to make sense
and these words canít lie
Truly, some cowboyís dream came true
But this gypsy is only passing through.
Lord knows it was never home to me.