What if all those people who say that they will "leave the country" did, then find out that they're not wanted.
Simple songs of acoustic guitar and voice.
Lyrics
We drive slow
Following directions we can't read
Showing doors we've no hope of opening
When we left home
We were filled with the zeal of new intent
Notes on Kant and the dreams of lower rent
Now the Cafes we attempt to dine in
Never want to let us in
They can see we are guilty of the sin
Of our births
So we sleep on trains
Avoiding all the notice that we can
Hiding our passports in the shadows of our hands
And the telephone remains the only link
To what we've left behind
Though there's not a single one of us who pines
For our old homes
We'll just move on
Live our lives out as perpetual vagabonds
Unremembered and finally unloved
And in the end we'd probably all admit
We were more than just a little bit afraid
The results of the choices that we'd made
Didn't mean a thing
