All Roads Lead to Butte, Montana

	it all seemed so bulletproof on paper by the cozy firelight
	we burned all the evidence and let it go just like a windy kite
	blowing in the wind, the details slowly slipped away
	had we talked it over proper, would we still be here today?

  the same old highway rolls before me
  the same old unexpected curves
  every time that i climb behind the wheel
  all these foregone destinations
  all the stations down the road
  all the miles from what we say to what we feel

	i remember maps and legends, folded long before they conjured fear
	memory's capricious, but nobody ever mentioned going here...

	it seems unbelievable how straight away we flew from where we planned
	hiding our misgivings through the badlands like some kind of contraband
	hidden in amidst provisions and all our chosen freight
	had we seen what we were packing, would we still have borne the weight?

  the same old flimsy flights of fancy
  the same old world to drag 'em down
  the same old roadkill bones the buzzards picking clean
  seeming paved in all directions
  delusions of free will
  all the miles from what we say to what we mean.

		Here we are again
		not so far from where we are to where we've been

	it all seems so preordained, these highways and the way things fall apart
	and the best intentions build a harder fall right from the very start
	suckered into feeling safe after such a long long way
	had we been hijacked by banditos we might be happier today

  the same old exit off the highway
  the same old slamming on the brakes
  every time i think i've finally found my speed
  all our smarmy reservations
  all our patience down the drain
  all the miles from what we've got to what we need