Low Countries

If this looks like average turnpike trash
I might as well be dead
What was going through your head?
On that golden afternoon
Tainted only by leaking petrol fumes
Got so high it filled our lungs
Eventually managed to collapse one
A starry night I’ll always remember
Drinking deep the irony
Of devout men crafting the devil’s elixir
Another golden afternoon
Watched the clouds go by
From our north sea view
Breathed the salt air
Repaired our lungs
Showed around by the enemies of the sun
A starry night I can’t quite remember
Looks like average turnpike trash
I couldn’t disagree more
Never met anyone in Newark
Who speaks in five tongues
No relics of the ancient world
To be found off exit one
For all the miles you’ve traveled
For all the warmth you’ve shared
This simple thanks we offer
I wish we had more to give