Exit Interstate Blues

Mountains, oceans, palm trees
All the sort of stuff you see in the movies
And I'm not really sure that I like it
The hands that I shake, the coffee, the climate

So I drive through California's highways
Dreaming of the beauty of its earlier days
It might be trapped in a Steinbeck novel
As if they had the dinosaur and we had the fossil

Railroads, gold rushes, Monroe
Exchanging time in traffic for the ribbons and bows
So I'm holding out for something better
To a prettier place with uglier weather

To a place where the trees stand taller
Where the front yards aren't gasping for water
Where the mornings don't demand ibuprofen
A new promised land where the roads aren't golden