it's desert ice outside but this diner has thawed my ears
hot coffee in a clean white mug and a smile when the waitress hears
that I was born in North Carolina
not an hour from her home town
and we used to play the same pizza parlor pinball
and there's a glance in time suspended as I wonder how it is
we've been swept up just by circumstance to where the coyote lives
where my days are strips of highway
and she's wiping tables down
holding on and still waiting for that windfall
but I've come home
even though I've never had so far to go
I've come home
I pay the check and leave the change from a crumpled ten-dollar bill
head across the street where VACANCY is burning in neon still
well the night eats up my body heat
and there's no sign of another
and I find myself slipping down into that black
but things are good I've got a lot of followers of my faith
I've got a whole congregation living in my head these days
and I'm preaching from the pulpit
to cries of “Amen brother”
closing my eyes to feel the warmth come back
and I've come home
even though I swear I've never been so alone
I've come home
I just want to be living as I'm dying
just like everybody here
just want to know my little flicker of time is worthwhile
and I don't know where I'm driving to
but I know I'm getting old
and there's a blessing in every moment every mile
thin white terry bars of soap and a couple little plastic cups
old Gideons Bible in the nightstand drawer saying “Go on open up”
well I'll kneel down on the carpet here
though I never was sure of God
think tonight I'll give Him the benefit of the doubt
I switch off the lights and imagine that waitress outlined in the bed
her hair falling all around me
I smile and shake my head
well we all write our own endings
and we all have our own scars
but tonight I think I see what it's all about
because I've come home
I've come home