Blue light in the mirror, gold dust in the cold,
Still got a crooked little halo when I head back home
Blue light in the mirror, gold dust in the cold,
I wear my trouble quiet like a story already told.

Boot print, blood tint, edge of the blacktop,
Pine trees lean in when the whole world stop.
Chrome on the buckle, dirt on the cuff,
I came up mean where the mercy stay tough.
Slow drawl, low fog, hand on the wheel,
Ain’t much holy left — just enough to feel.
Gravel in my pulse and a debt in my name,
I learned how to smile when the heat got shame.

Don’t look too close at the shine on me,
Some gold come dirty, some grace don’t keep.
Wind through the pines, siren down low —
I cross that line like I already know.

Got a county line halo hanging sideways,
Tilted like a warning in the red haze.
Ain’t clean, ain’t pure, still glows when I ride —
Something like heaven on the wrong side.
If the night want truth, let it follow these tracks,
I wear my little bit of light with a whole lot of black.

Porch light flick, switchblade moon,
Whole sky look guilty in the back of June.
Cash in the console, smoke in the seams,
Couple old prayers still caught in the beams.
Bad blood, back road, map full of scars,
I know every mile by the burn on the tar.
She said, “Boy, you look like a storm held still,”
I said, “That’s just the dark learning how to kneel.”

Don’t look too close at the shine on me,
Some gold come dirty, some grace don’t keep.
Wind through the pines, siren down low —
I cross that line like I already know.

Got a county line halo hanging sideways,
Tilted like a warning in the red haze.
Ain’t clean, ain’t pure, still glows when I ride —
Something like heaven on the wrong side.
If the night want truth, let it follow these tracks,
I wear my little bit of light with a whole lot of black.

No choir. No courthouse.
Just tire hum and my breath in the cab.
One hand on the dash,
one hand on the past,
and the past still pull like a chain in the grass.
I could turn back now...
but that ain’t how I’m built.
Some men run from the fire.
Some men drive through the guilt.

Got a county line halo hanging sideways,
Burning through the dust and the dead gaze.
Ain’t clean, ain’t pure, still glows when I ride —
Something like heaven on the wrong side.
Let the law lights fade, let the pine shadows stretch,
I got just enough grace left to cash that check.
If the night want truth, let it read these tracks,
I wear my little bit of light with a whole lot of black.

Blue light in the mirror, gold dust in the cold...
Still got a crooked little halo when I head back home.