I envy the quiet lives that for all
I know don't exist outside of a lazy book
That won a Pulitzer Prize
I picked up 'cause you said it opened up your eyes

I'm wired now
And will be 'till I find a person who can eat at the Empire Grill
Who's seen a black Mercedes at the textile mill
And spreads the word to all the folks depression hasn't killed

I'll follow that car down to Boston
And ask what it wanted in Maine
Coffee at least for my trouble
And I'll be a hero if I came back with something to say

Too late
They wouldn't like me there
And though they might not mind my inquisitive stare
Every single one of them is too polite to care why
I'm enchanted by a way of life in disrepair
But I'm not talking apple pie eating
Jack and Coke drinking
Hopeful lie telling
Anywhere, America
Through camera eyes
On a Hollywood body that could make you all cry

Maybe I'll go to the movies
A comedy would be ideal
Something that probably won't happen
'Cause this made up town is much too real

Copyright: Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Writer(s): CHRIS THILE