Flyover State

We came up all squeaky and clean

In the middle of the cornfields

In a flyover state

We loved Jesus and our neighbor

Though we didn’t always trust

The latter. I suspect because

We saw pieces of ourselves in them

See we were taught to fear ourselves

And to question our experiences

Especially when they contradicted

What the pastor taught on Sundays

We never questioned him though

Which seemed kinda ironic

Especially when he was

Charged with embezzlement

Paradise was a paved parking lot

Where the other kids used to hang

Out with their smokes, and their beer

And their jokes. To this day I’m still

Not sure what all I missed out on

In the back of truck beds

Under brightness of street lamps

Some nights every beer still feels like

Making up for lost time. Every late

Night feels like I’m learning to walk

In this world where it feels like it’s

Still not my home. I’m a vagabond

Waiting for the next shoe to drop

But I’ve learned to trust the pulse

Of the nights filled with friends

I rarely fly over those

Flyover states but I feel the

Resentment each time I drive through

From a people who believe they’re

Losing their country and I can’t

Help but hoping their belief is true

‘Cause I came up all squeaky and clean

In the middle of the cornfields

In a flyover state

And I loved Jesus and my neighbor

Though I was taught not to trust

The latter. Especially when

They didn’t look like me