Walk out the door, don’t look back, leave your January cap
in the corner of the closet with the ancient script attached.
Newer towns and different schemes to breed these outlaw scholar dreams
from these golden strips of pavement from your city memories.

Can I hear that one again about the time that you got lost in acid?
Write me another page soaked in whiskey wisdom from Merle Haggard.
You’ll return again I hope, to share some thoughts
and some words and some songs and some dope.
A lost bandit stealing time
to laugh through the summertime.
I’ll miss these days but I wish you well.

Close this book, no strings attached, leave a secondary map
and an undisclosed address to keep the cops off of your back.
Because this world ain’t what it seems, it’s just a rhetorician’s dream,
filled with skateboards and punk songs and drunken harmony.

Can I hear that one again about New Mexico in love and anger?
You smile when you say her name, in the fall on the phone searching for Jack Daniels.
You’ll return again I hope, to share a long forgotten verse,
slap yourself with a joke.
A lost bandit stealing wine,
a southern crush in the summertime.
I’ll miss these days but I wish you well.

When you’re gone don’t waste your time on the words left unsaid
and if the repo man comes to your door I’ll tell him you’re in bed
with hangover dreams about somewhere you’ve never seen,
with your girl by your side, laying crooked in your sleep.

Can I hear that one again about the 1970’s in Hazzard?
Or the time you smashed your daddy’s car
in the garage with a wicked grin and hammer.
You’ll return again I hope, to share these same old songs
about our friends and our smoke.
A lost bandit stealing wine,
to laugh through the summertime.
I’ll miss these days but I wish you well.