This song was inspired by Phillip Gulley's essay The March of
Progress and a Native American saying, You should never
travel further in a day than your soul can travel Just because
we can, doesn't mean we should
I found her sleeping in a Kansas truck stop
In the corner booth
She'd been waiting there for months
And that's the truth
She looked at me with wary eyes
She'd heard all my lies
She was not surprised
She just looked a me
And shook her head
Come back, Come home
I'm gathering the crumbs and stones
Been traveling faster than my soul
Can go
One subject line, one click away
But at the end of the day
I couldn't even say
The things that I had done
So I spent the morning sweeping floors
I didn't want much more
Then to do just one thing at a time
And call it mine
Come back, Come home
I'm gathering the crumbs and stones
Been traveling faster than my soul
Can go
Before songs were grooves and lines
And caught in jars like fireflies
The only place a song was held
Soft and razor sharp
Was in the heart
Mr Gatling made a Gatling gun
He said it would end war
For who could send some mothers son
Through such a door
But the bullets move at the speed of cold
Drones do as they're told
And the men go home at night
And kiss the wife
And watch TV
And never see
All those souls untethered
Floating out to sea
Come back, Come home
I'm gathering the crumbs and stones
Been traveling faster than my soul
Can go