Grand Junction

That punk with a mustache who brought us our breakfast Never came back with the check On our third day of driving with no expectations Except some vague sense of The West Our silence was stretched between nerves and the knowledge The ring that she wore wasn't mine 'Cause people get tired and they turn on each other And the rivers run from the divides That night we drove into Grand Junction, the lights Were weeping and deep and divine She said I trust that we'll get somewhere safe by the storm But I'm scared of the size of this sky Janie, I fear that our love from last year Was a tenor that's hard to maintain Lost half what we had through a hole in the bag And the cellophane won't take the blame If we stretch out our funds, we can get through the month But at some point there must come a time That we sell something shipped from the wishes you list For the guys that you talk with online She said, "Mister, if you're thinking that far ahead Can you see where we live when we get to the end of this?" Besides, you don't like when I lean on those kinds of friends It hurts being human, but our instincts will keep us alive We do what we do to survive On the next day of driving with no real direction Except for the sunset out west She said, "I like having friends who check out and check in So what if they send me some gifts?" In Grand Junction, it seemed all the mountains were mocking Our own little pitiful lives On the side of the road with her arms in the air Amazed by the size of the sky