[Insert Whimsically Deep Title Here]

Another night, another small club for the troubled troubadour
another soulless performance to keep her tabs open and van driving
In the back she barely makes out a man slipping in silently
Their eyes meet and through dilated windows find a kindred spirit

Show's over and she makes her way to the man at the wooden bar,
as if she hadn't already downed a fifth of Jack backstage between songs.
He doesn't have to tell her that he's on the run from everything,
and she doesn't say where she's headed or why she can't stop; he knows

high's and low's spin out as they share a numb dance- lonely together
but none dare call it a romance, for it's much bigger than that; and more honest
For a moment the present exists before it's in the rearview once more.
He won't be there for the hangover, nor will she for the creeping nightmares.

Frozen souls try to connect one last time before they hit the road
Both give a perfect smile into the other's eye and pull closer.
In unison, they say earnestly that they hope to meet again
and wasted their breath