Postcards

green eyed boy on a farm town street
got a ride to the coast, south by southeast
'don't worry about me no more'
met a girl in spain, so the postcards said
there's a little white house, a king size bed
but he walked away like every time before
and the loneliness was sneaking up behind him
he's gone and run somewhere he knows'll never find him
on african plains like he always said he would
in foreign words he understood
he signed his name 'you don't know what you're missing'
but on the dusty road with hands cracked dry
in the tall grass where the dogs are crying
I, sometimes, wonder if he listens to the lonliness...
and all he heard the preacher say
was 'live your life before it slips away'