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The Number Twelve Looks Like You
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The Garden's All Nighters
Nowhere like a diner to get to truly know someone.
Like a library up 17 or a spin around the center of town.
The smell of saltwater. I left my pocket change at the Molly Pitcher.
A sound we can live with, no sound.
A smell we can live with, no smell.
A home we can live with, no home.
But the morning sun is not too far behind.
I'm lit up like the night sky- I told you I trust this place.
The night jug handles as I'm swept through northern lights.
Quick Chek coffee is cooling down.
We're sweeping along the shoreline,
On some journey I cannot repeat.
Matilda will meet us at Martell's
Barefoot in the sand,
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Hanging on the boardwalk for dear life.
The smells, the sounds
Long way from home, I can't go on.
The garden state
I'll always bounce back down these roads
Nothin' like home
We danced and split. Exit 117 driving east.
I'll never turn around in the place where I was born.
I'm left without directions or a road to follow
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