Massachusetts, I can't believe I'm here. The flight from Denver only took 3 years. The pilot was gassed; but I had a blast. I pass your hotels and your record stores. Urban rhythms sound the call to war. I don't have a gun; just armed with the sun set upon my back. Wearing new shoes to retrace my tracks. I'll make my peace with Boston, and make my peace with me. Near the ballpark, feel that atmosphere. Hello brownstones, we are gathered here to worship and praise, my darkest of days. Blame noreasters, blame the song and dance, blame the girlfriend, blame the circumstance that I put myself in... but before I begin toward some mental health, I'll need to blame and forgive myself. I'll make my peace with Boston, and make my peace with me. I said "Boston let's clean my slate. From the concourse behind homeplate, calling strike 3 on the hate!" And she said "Friend of mine, it's good to see that your light still shines, and we sang out "Sweet Caroline" and good times never felt so good. Looks like we just made up.