Driving thru familial traditions, 
Left behind memories of home, but far away from everywhere.
A stray dog runs along, seeing the future in a snow globe of light. 
The length of a womans boot, tall and black, crestfallen stars
And everyone is right. Everyone is right.
But you are wrong.
And it can only result in driving right thru the guardrail ahead.
Make it count for something.
Make it count for anything.