Panic-soaked and desperation crowned 95 looks better underwater 70 is better off drowned And all these trains that run in circles Are begging to be buried Committed to the ground Whiskey-soaked and daily routine drowned There's no logic but of rails and highways The truth is all in other towns I ride these trains that run in circles Every day, back and forth, up and down Up and down And that old Broadways song Still makes me smile But it doesn't mean the same to him and me Here's to another deadened synapse For every cold and snowless winter Here's to another silent dinner Here's to another empty bed Here's to another thousand miles On a tired minivan Here's to all those early times That kept me up too late again