"This week was hard, it’s getting dark, the weeds are high in my front yard but its Friday night and I don’t really care. The moon is out, the crickets loud a train went by, but it’s gone now. So up and down the street, I sit and stare. You could say there’s not much here for us, nothing but a pile of dirt and dust but, baby we could string the stars over these corn stalks. We could turn your truck into an old jukebox. Just take my hand and baby, we could fall, let’s turn this open field into an old dance hall. No neon signs, no bar room fights. It’s just you and me in these headlights, two-stepping in rolled-up Levi jeans"