There's a five-hour layover above the Detroit Metro,
Good thing I'm good at wasting time,
I bought a Sports Illustrated, a pack of cigarettes,

All I see is that "No Smoking" sign,
I don't know anyone in Michigan,
I don't know my way around,

I'm just standing here in line with all the strangers in the crowd,
Tried to call you on the phone but you weren't home,
Missed connections one more time.


Soon we'll taxi down the runway, I'll be flying home,
It'll feel so good to hold you tight,

I'll take you out to dinner, maybe to a movie,
Say you missed me and we'll make love all night,
Now a soldier and his brother

Shaking hands with one another,
Even a uniform can't make him look nineteen,
Tired of terminal goodbyes, I closed my eyes,

Slipped back into a dream.

Yeah, the pennant race is shapin' up, only two games out,

Still got forty left to play,
Sure is good to be back home--no, I didn't read it,
What'd the front page have to say?

Last night a plane crashed in Detroit,
A hundred fifty-seven dead,
And my souvenir's a soldier's face, ain't seen a razor yet,

All the terminal goodbyes can't stop my eyes
and the oceans from getting wet.