Watching painted lines fly by Driving westward late at night And every one I get to Is another left behind Until I watch the night grow early Right before my weary eyes That sun must be hungover Cause it's struggling to rise Luck has a way of changing But I don't have time to wait So I dream about the cold and that old Delta 88 Some faces have a history Some just have a past Where you happen to pull over When you're running out of gas This place was founded where an angel Was said to have set down Put they got him tarred and feathered And they run him out of town I got half a mind to chase him And the other half to stay While I dream about the cold and that old Delta 88 Where can I find some piece of earth Some stone unturned not burned down I keep looking around but all I see Are strip malls and worn out memories I keep a picture of a river By what used to be a store And a broken down theater That no one goes to anymore Since the canvassing of snow Was drawn into the flood And our watercolor ghost town Was left painted in mud I got a pocket full of memories It's got me limping from the weight While I dream about the cold and that old Delta 88