I'm a town in Carolina, I'm a detour on a ride    For aphone call and a soda, I'm a blur from the driver's side    I'm the last gas for an hour if you're going twenty-five    I am Texaco and tobacco, I am dust you leave behind      I am peaches in September, and corn from a roadside stall    I'm the language of the natives, I'm a cadence and a drawl    I'm the pines behind the graveyard, and the cool beneath their shade, where the boys have left their beer cans    I am weeds between the graves.      My porches sag and lean with old black men and children    Their sleep is filled with dreams, I never can fulfill them    I am a town.      I am a church beside the highway where the ditches never drain    I'm a Baptist like my daddy, and Jesus knows my name    I am memory and stillness, I am lonely in old age; I am not your destination    I am clinging to my ways    I am a town.      I'm a town in Carolina, I am billboards in the fields    I'm an old truck up on cinder blocks, missing all my wheels    I am Pabst Blue Ribbon, American, and "Southern Serves the South"    I am tucked behind the Jaycees sign, on the rural route    I am a town    I am a town    I am a town    Southbound.