Which way to America?
by Steven Clotzman

I was driving 'cross this countryside
on my way to a foreign land
Passing through the corn fields
far from the ocean's sand
When I thought I saw a miracle
but it was a flash of light
off the bumper of the car in front of me,
an expression of my plight.
Now which way to America?
I gotta get back home
I've been driving here for three long years,
I feel so all alone.

Can one know of the purpose
in a journey such as this,
to take me far away from home
without a goodbye kiss?
Is it too late now to think of that?
Is it prudent now to care?
Does it matter much what’s won or lost
once you’ve missed the turn back there?
Now which way to America?
I gotta get back home
I've been driving here for three long years,
I feel so all alone.

Tell please, I want to know
the point of my mistake
I’d turn around but I'm sure now
which interstate to take

From now on, I promise you
not to look away.
They won’t tell me what I want to hear,
only what to say
And in the visage of this emptiness
can one believe in the morn
When all that lies before them now
are a thousand miles of corn?
Now which way to America?
I gotta get back home
I've been driving here for three long years,
and I feel so all alone.


© 1992 & 2005 Steven Clotzman - all rights reserved