Giving up on Your Hometown

Well, I don't know where the cool kids hang on Friday night

Used to park our parents' car by the billboard sign

They tore it down years ago to build a small high-rise

It's abandoned now, and it's been that way for quite some time

And it don't make sense, but the cheap motel is always open

Seems like we're sitting in a handbasket, wondering where it's going

There's a freshwater shark in a small fish tank behind the counter

Door's always locked, and you gotta pre-pay in cash by the hour

But the sunsets still look the way they always do

Over the backyard trees, my grandma used to sit under in the afternoon

And you can't keep everything the way you want it

Feels like even the ghosts are getting out

Giving up on your hometown

Every single Sunday at 10 AM, we were in that pew

I was married there and baptized there, and my kids were, too

My mother sang in the women's choir before she died

And the day they sold that church, even the statue of Mother Mary cried

But the sunsets still look the way they always do

Over the backyard trees, my grandma used to sit under in the afternoon

And you can't keep everything the way you want it

Feels like even the ghosts are getting out

Giving up on your hometown

Giving up on your hometown

Every kid that left just kept going

And every debt we didn't pay, we just keep owing

We never visit your daddy's grave, but we go by the house

He'd be working on a car in the driveway if he was with us now

And that porch swing you built for your mama is all but gone

I guess even when you stay right here, sometimes, you can't go home

Giving up on your hometown

Giving up on your hometown

Giving up on your hometown