[ti:Backseat]
[ar:Bryan John Appleby]
[al:Fire On the Vine]
[by:]
[offset:0]
[00:22.86]You were hiding in the backseat of my Lincoln
[00:30.25]Underneath a blanket with your head against the door
[00:36.37]And I was already halfway through Ohio
[00:42.68]When I heard your soft voice singing to a song on the radio
[00:57.43]
[01:12.74]I crept out in the darkness of the morning
[01:12.48]Past our sleeping father  a cold cigar lying at his feet
[01:19.30]He was surrounded by his books down in the parlor
[01:26.61]Filled with all the word
[01:28.55]S that he had wanted us to read and know
[01:32.80]
[01:48.85]But this is not an old American story
[01:55.29]About the rugged men who came out from the east
[02:01.98]And I am not some outlaw from the Badlands
[02:08.60]Or a gambler running tables in New Orleans
[02:15.79]So I put you on a bus back to Boston
[02:21.92]With some money in your shoe for a meal
[02:28.92]And I turn my car in the other direction
[02:35.79]Just hoping that I hear a note from the backseat