Going on a little trip must stretch her legs to learn. Going on a little trip that could end up too long.

Oh where, oh where, oh where shall she go?

That night she slept in the heat with the bugs in the dirt. That night she slept full of heat and her love, he moved on.

So she won’t head North to Bonham or Savoy, then where, oh where shall she go?

Oh where, oh where, oh where shall she go? She don’t like the town with the Pennywhistle Store.
Oh where, oh where, oh where shall she go? She don’t like Savoy where her father makes his home.

So she won’t head North to Bonham or Savoy, then where, oh where shall she go? Thursdays in Fairfield the lake front shakes till dawn and the wild hairs are plucked out till they’re gone.

Somewhere, somewhere in the middle, stuck somewhere, somewhere in the middle. The middle of nowhere is somewhere that’s safe, till nowhere is somewhere or something that’s plain. Her land became heavy, her heart waxed to wane. She dreamed of the trip and the trip brought her forward.

Grabbing to pack every piece of her room till her bag was topped out and walls were bare too. Taking the tumbled right from morn to nighttime, won’t stick (in) the middle, nothing’s in the middle.

Somewhere, somewhere in the middle, stuck somewhere, somewhere in the middle.