There's nothing to do in the Midwest but dream There's spiders on the walls of abandoned factories Setting fire to the trash, dance beneath the fog When the cops come, we run like hell Stealing from our souls, born cheap out here A dream that can't compete Up against the fear of never getting away There's nothing to do in the Midwest but dream There's nothing to do in the Midwest but dream Into the earth and out of the past We plug in our guitars and begin to feed Off the spirits in the air flying in our minds The sound we try to hear is So many years from ever being defined There's nothing to do in the Midwest but dream