Since Bobby became the first person to escape from college rock alive, he’d become quite the celebrity.
“Tell me what happened,” the host said.
“I met Her. Loved her from the start. Denim cut-offs, long blonde hair. We shot pool, spent summer nights holding hands. But that small town was chokin’ us, and we had to get out.”
“Why?”
“You don’t need reasons.” Bobby put on his sunglasses. “You just need the road.”
Interview done, Bobby returned to rehab. Doctors were hopeful – he’d stopped rhyming town with ‘bringin’ me down’ – but it was a long road back from Highway 61.
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Frankly I have no idea what was going through my head when I was writing this one. Something clichéd with guitars, from the look of it.
2 comments… add one
Yeah, don’t really get this one.
I kinda dig the whole scene, totally, man.
Although, I’m so uncool that if I wrote lyrics about a highway it would probably be titled Highways and Byways of Great Britain (with reference to the Highways Act 1980)….