Suitcase Full of Sparks

Driving through the graveyard, with a suitcase full of sparks. Honey,

I'm just tryin' to find my way to you. I lit up every campfire

I found down in the dark. Oh, I cut down all the cottonwoods.

Picked up all the arrowheads off buffalo trails of the Indians. The Oklahoma sky

was cutting through. Along the tracks with the runaway, he just talks and talks and

talks. Honey, I'm just tryin' to find my way to you.

And I quit counting stars that night in the cold by the satellite

field. And I quit panning gold, digging holes. Yeah,