Lloyd Cole Follow

She's got the means to make him hurt a little
She's going places he no longer dreams about
Beautiful dreams, no doubt

Dreams of Savannah mornings hung with Spanish moss
Dreams of New Mexico, endless miles of dust
Dreaming of soaring high above this vacant lot
All dreams of flight, traveling light

Traveling light, traveling light, traveling light
If not for scheming constellations in the night
Determined to align themselves against my design
I would be traveling light

Sailor's harmonica, gypsy guitar
Like I'm the last of the true believers
Kicking the dirt that might unearth that lonesome song
You know the one that I was counting on

Traveling light, traveling light, traveling light
If not for bitter constellations in the night
Determined to align themselves against my design
I should be traveling light

If not for twisted guidance counselors in spite
Of sympathetic bartenders intent to do me right
I would be, I would be traveling light

I am the porter by the baggage carousel
I am the leader of this small ensemble
And we will pack this little station wagon tight
Then take flight amongst the headlights

She's got the means to make him hurt a little
She's going places he no longer dreams about