mullins, shawn
homemade wine
sixty miles from el paso feelin' lonesome as can be driving further from the heartache that was slowly killing me i left at 4 am last monday filled my tank at luther's store i might be checking' in come sunday 'cause i know by then she'll walk the floor she has it still inside her skull that i am hers and she is mine she's dead on empty and i am full of broken dreams and homemade wine there's a kid who plays the squeesebox on the border bridge on the juarez side he dances to the beat with no shoes on his feet to the music that he makes as i drive by and i felt just like the devil the whole night's pull but right this second i feel fine my tank is dead on empty but i am full of broken dreams and homemade wine now the gulf wind she sings to me a love song i can hear her from the boxcar that i ride her voice is in my brain making music with this train that will soon take me to the other side and she might think that i'm coming back to hold her close and stop her cryin' but this freight train's traveling down a southbound track full broken dreams and hommade wine just broken dreams and hommade wine broken dreams and hommade wine