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Backroad Hymn

Backroad Hymn By: Lucky Luke Lyrics: Two suits in a leather sky Whiskey neat and a crooked tie Trading souls over city lights Like God stamped gold on their midnight flights Laughin’ down at the stitched-up ground “Nothing but ghosts in those nowhere towns” But I was born where the fences lean And the stars cut scars in the black night’s scene You can’t see dirt from a first-class plane Can’t taste rain on a windowpane You ain’t heard a screen door slam Or crushed your bones in a harvest man’s hand There’s a backroad hymn in a tail light burn Where the fields bow low and the cold winds turn Where freight trains scream like a gospel fire And coyotes sing with a barbed-wire choir Keep your penthouse gold and your velvet seats I found God where the blacktop bleeds At a gravel vein and a rusted gate Where the dead get raised in the flyover states I knew a welder with a blown-out Ford Rust in the fenders, dash held the Lord Said, “Boy, this world don’t owe you breath But it’ll shake your hand if you starve to death” We chased that moon down a two-lane scar Sunflower bones under broken stars No skyline there, just a holy hum And a neon buzz where the lost boys come There’s a waitress there with a busted grin Knows your sins when you stumble in She’ll pour you truth in a chipped-up cup Call you brother when the world gives up There’s a backroad hymn in a tail light burn Where the fields bow low and the cold winds turn Where freight trains scream like a gospel fire And coyotes sing with a barbed-wire choir Keep your skyline shine and your velvet seats I found heaven where the blacktop meets A gravel vein and a rusted gate Where the damned find names in the flyover states Yeah, I’ve seen cathedrals made of steel and glass But they never held like the midnight grass Never healed like a harvest dawn Or a splintered porch with a screen door song So if you’re flying high with a plastic crown Looking down on the middle ground You might miss what the good Lord wrote In the amber waves and the dust-choked throats There’s a backseat saint in a rusted truck Praying low ‘cause the times got rough There’s mercy hid in a midnight brake And grace in the cracks that the good roads break Chase that fame on a coastal stage I’ll take rust and a dying age Where the sky runs wild and the hearts don’t fake Yeah I’ll die, come back in the flyover states Let the jet stream drag your polished dreams I’ll be parked where the horizon leans Radio low and the air knife-straight In a backseat church in the flyover states #BackroadHymn #LuckyLukeOutlaw