I am creased along the fold
In a booth where coffee's cold
Smeared with grease and silver ink
Watching midnight colors sink
I am the lines that lead you home
Through the grid where dreamers roam
Colored ribbons red and blue
Holding tight to something true
Yellowed edges start to fray
Counting miles until the day
You trace a route with shaking hand
Searching for a promised land
I am the lines that lead you home
Through the grid where dreamers roam
Colored ribbons red and blue
Holding tight to something true
1982 is all I know
Where the heavy diesel flow
Hidden under vinyl seat
While the rain hits asphalt heat
I am the lines that lead you home
Through the grid where dreamers roam
Colored ribbons red and blue
Holding tight to something true
Your camera lens is clicking fast
Capturing a moment cast
Across my ink and weathered white
In the glare of parking light
Soggy napkins on the tray
Waiting for the break of day
One last turn to find the gate
Tangled up in sudden fate
Fold me small and tuck me deep
While the weary truckers sleep
I will be your steady guide
With the city tucked inside
I am the lines that lead you home
Through the grid where dreamers roam
Colored ribbons red and blue
Holding tight to something true
Paper City Map
Paper City Map
Just a paper map
Fold me up
