It's not blood that marks these borders,
More like unending emptiness,
We thought this an adventure,
An end to the shelter of home,
Of family and all that went before,
From the snows of North Dakota,
To the sweat and toil of Mexico,
We've made our home at random,
In any truck or passing car,
We have loved each other,
And the loose and ragged drivers,
Who pilot us through this hell,
The shadowless infinity,
Of interstates and back roads,
The frame that builds this power,
In a dream all roads were gone,
Destroyed in some new plan,
And the union was deflated,
Peak oil passed and broken.
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