A dream of escape from a mundane life, this was my state of mind at 21.
I'm just sitting around this backwards town,
wonderin' if there really could be more for me.
The things I see, the times I dream
I'm starting to think that maybe it's all a scam.
'Cause don't you know we'll never go nowhere,
not stickin' around this deadbeat town
This may be home, but it's the middle of nowhere
and you just can't get ahead. You just get by.
When I was younger, not too long ago,
I knew this girl and we danced at a ball.
She was a fine young girl but she couldn't dance royal,
so we went our separate ways.
Now she's a mother, first at sixteen,
married to some guy I've rarely seen,
but, then again, we're not that close.
Now these poorly paves streets are covered with snow,
slickened with ice, covered with slush.
How will we ever get away from this waylaid crowd?
I tried to hit the road but my car's all rusted.
The engine won't start and the muffler's busted.
And the inspection sticker peeled off,
from nineteen eighty four.
So I'll just have to dream about that smooth pavement scene,
Racing along to a better destiny.
Stuck in a town where you just get by
is better than stuck in a place where you die.
But we've gotta bust out, we gotta bust out soon. I feel
an urge to get out, hear the screech of my wheels
to find a better future. Son of a gun,
there's got to be something more somewhere, under the sun.
So, when you're looking to take that long ride
to something better, I'll be by your side,
if you're looking for some interesting company.
Just remember they say, in this day and age,
you're so lucky to get by, and so easy to die.
Maybe it's not so bad in this town,
but you'll never know until you've been down.
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Reviews of "Bust Out"
Reviewed by ~ Holly Harbridge (Reader)
Reviewed on August 6, 2007
Martin, you're a gifted writer, please continue, Holly
For a time, I perched myself on a flat rock, comparing my life with the Guyandotte River. Just as its tributaries replenish it daily, changing it in some small—sometimes great—degree, so have the day-to-day occurrences of life changed me. Like the ri
This is not a drill. The attack on Pearl. They were the ghost planes of the night, deadly, illusive, sharp-clawed Black Cats. The Memoirs of ARM H.P. Lawrence, a Pearl Harbor survivor, Black Cat, and decorated war veteran.
She never felt safe at home as a young girl, and didn't understand why when she finally escaped she wasn't safe in the big wide world either ...effectively jumping out of the frying pan into the fire!