Midwest

There's nothing to do in the Midwest but dream

There's spiders on the walls of abandoned factories

Setting fire to the trash, dance beneath the fog

When the cops come, we run like hell

Stealing from our souls, born cheap out here

A dream that can't compete

Up against the fear of never getting away

There's nothing to do in the Midwest but dream

There's nothing to do in the Midwest but dream

Into the earth and out of the past

We plug in our guitars and begin to feed

Off the spirits in the air flying in our minds

The sound we try to hear is

So many years from ever being defined

There's nothing to do in the Midwest but dream