In the back of a car on a road in the dark
In the stillicide, silently falling snow
I've packed everything that I own in a bag
I'm driving, I'm driving to Idaho
A poem for leaving, a reason to go
So I'm driving, I'm driving to Idaho
'Cause I can't be anyone but me, anyone but me
And I can't keep dreaming that I'm free, dreaming that I'm free
I don't want to fall asleep and watch my life from fifty feet
My hands are on the wheel, so I'm driving to Idaho
'Cause I hear it's mighty pretty
And, oh, I've been dumb, I've been perfectly beautiful
Lain on my back buying lovers with stealth
Then I'm sick of you all and I'm sick of opinions
I'm sick of this war I wage on myself
And I don't know why I'm so gripped to go there
A universe riddle that only I know
Mr. Robert, he says: "it's all in the head"
Tell me, Phaedrus, what's good, is it Idaho?
'Cause I can't be anyone but me, anyone but me
I can't keep dreaming that I'm free, dreaming that I'm free
I don't want to fall asleep and watch my life from fifty feet
My hands are on the wheel, so I'm driving to Idaho
'Cause I hear it's mighty pretty
'Cause I can't be anyone but me, anyone but me
And I can't keep dreaming that I'm free, dreaming that I'm free
I don't want to fall asleep and watch my life from fifty feet
My hands are on the wheel, so I'm driving to Idaho
'Cause I hear it's mighty pretty
'Cause I hear it's mighty pretty in Idaho
