me and andy went down to the landing in his pickup truck. sitting alone, needed a ride back home, something about breaking it up. we drove past 76, washed the inkstamps from my wrist and got every last pay phone. but now i'm having relations down at the stations writing letters to you back home.      fell and slipped and broke my knees. everyone takes everything away from me. grass grows in the distance. i've wasted six months of my precious life taking over the country.      all out of time tonight. tuck in friends and keep them out of sight. a house, a car, and a honeymoon, we've got nothing to lose, just time.      sent back your welfare contribution and other help, i'm on a self-sufficient borderline that cannot be broken this time.      grass grows in the distance. i've wasted six months of my precious life taking over the country.