| We flew into Minnesota |
| And waited at the baggage carousel |
| And we were told there’d be a snowstorm |
| On the drive to some hotel |
| And all the girls were getting facials |
| And the boys weren’t feeling well |
| So I got out and started walking |
| To where I couldn’t tell |
| Minneapolis was empty |
| It had an old midwestern vibe |
| I had my yellow leather gloves on |
| And it was nice and cold outside |
| I had a beer in some old barroom |
| I was the only person there |
| Except for one young couple |
| With a boy in a wheelchair |
| Started walking to the soundcheck |
| Through the twilight empty streets |
| I passed a mural of Bob Dylan |
| While I was listening to Tom Waits |
| I read a poem in the green room |
| Out loud for all to hear |
| And it meant nothing to anybody else |
| But I didn’t really care |
| And up on stage we talked in circles |
| Every night’s about the same |
| But there’s nowhere else that I hear cheering |
| When someone says my name |
| And we climbed into a private jet |
| To take us out of town |
| And I thought we might not make it |
| As the snow was coming down |