Another new place;

Another new road.

Another new school;

Another new home.

Each move just the last.

Pack up your clothes;

Pack up your shoes.

Pack up your books;

Pack up your junk.

I hate it every time they say,

"You might like it there;

It's really pretty."

"You'll make new friends;

We can always come back and visit."

I always make the same promises.

"I'll come and visit, I promise."

"I'll come back for this, I promise."

"I'll come back for that, I promise."

"I'll keep in touch, I promise."

I'll watch my friends wave as they shrink in my rear view mirrior.

Never to see them again;

Never to hear them again.

Never to hug them again;

Never to smile with them again.

We'll drive and drive.

"Are we there yet?"

"I have to pee! Can we stop?"

"I'm tired. Can we stop for a nap?"

"How long is this going to take?"

We'll arrive, and it'll all be the same.

The same type of people;

The same type of stores.

The same type of houses;

The same type of cars.

And yet, it's so different, almost alien, but I'll leave here soon.

I'll pack, I'll hear the same words, I'll make the same promises,

I'll never see these friends again, I'll drive to a new city and find:

Another new place;

Another new road.

Another new school;

Another new home.