The Rug

Bobby Lee’s from the Deep South
Born to southern charm
Drawl slow and easy
Talk the talk, stroll the stroll
But Bobby Lee’s frustrated
Picking cotton, baling hay
His daddy said, “know your roots son”
It’s always been this way

But Bobby Lee has a restless heart
A need to cross tired lines
He ain’t got time for tradition
The same old ways, the same old lines
He asks his friends directions, and
He tells them he’s gotta run
But nobody hears him, nobody sees him
It ain’t the way it’s done

When there’s no more room under the rug
You can shake it out and see
All the colors are jammed together
It comes out a dirty gray
All individuality is lost
We all look exactly the same
Going through the motions
Making the same old plays
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
When there’s no more room
Under the rug

Bobby Lee ran away from home
His Rubicon a tiny stream
That kept him with his own kind
That mortgaged his heart, imprisoned his mind
Now he’s climbing a mountain
To catch a vision he’s never seen
With nobody’s help, because nobody cares
‘Cause he ain’t what he’s supposed to be

Now Bobby Lee’s a strong man
He ain’t afraid to lose
He has his work cut out, though
It’s a different world with different rules
When it’s stacked against him now
When they tell him he don’t belong
His mind might hesitate, fearing they’re right
But every heartbeat tells him they’re wrong