Wrapped In Metal

From highway to highway
Rainy morning, from the stars they say
Mascara and bloodshot eyes
She roams Rhode Island, staying between a certain yellow line

Trees tower above that small little mailbox
The fence faded from hands of a little girl
The front door locked shut, the key under the mat
She's back home but she's arrived all alone

A lovely little white dress hides up in that attic
A radio on the front porch carries static
The grass blades rest between her bare toes
A white house before her, she's home

The rain comes down on the rusted shutters
The rocks thrown across the beautiful dirt
She tries to walk further into that memory
But there's no going back, she's already wrapped in metal