I only knew you from   three months of tour and a cellular phone.   We talked of the Midwest   and I learned of all that you left behind.      Oh, and the loss runs deep.   Your father and a friend,   a rug pulled from your feet,   But I'll try and give you a place   to lay your tired head and hide your only face.      There's a bed waiting for you.   There's a light that I left on.   There's a purpose for the distance   and the things that I've done wrong      You came to stay with us.   A weekend up south [?]   you weren't missing much.   The day that you left it rained,   and the cold weather up north was calling your name.   So I helped to pack your bags,   folding your shirts, the clothes on your back.   Home never felt so far.   In the morning I found sweaters you dropped in my front yard.      There's a bed waiting for you.   There's a light that I left on.   There's a purpose for the distance   and the things that I've done wrong.   There's a place that you live in   a town that you call home.   There's a state that you visit   but you never stay too long.      You're careful how hold yourself.   I know,   you worry what might happen but i swear   it won't.   So I'm waiting for your voice to make a sound,   but i know every word before they leave your mouth.      There's a bed waiting for you.   There's a light that I left on.   There's a purpose for the distance   and the things that I've done wrong.   There's a place that you live in   a town that you call home.   There's a state that you visit   but you never stay too long.