On the road, away from a loved one (who can't cook), in a motel room that brings back an eclectic array of childhood memories. A song about being on the road but that, ironically, was written in the rented room I called home at the time.
Lyrics
The fake wood panelling on the closet door
reminds me of my Dad’s old car
The lampshade reminds me of my Mom’s long skirts
she’d wear out in the yard
And the ceiling ain’t made quite the same
but it’s got that nicotine glow
Yeah this hotel room ain’t nowhere near it
but it sure reminds me of home
Ooo... yeah it sure reminds me of home
The ashtray’s made of the same ceramic
as my sister’s piggy bank
And the boat in that sun-faded picture frame
looks like the one my big brother sank
Yeah with these four walls cavin’ in on me,
I only wish I had my own boat to row
No it ain’t anywhere near it
but it sure reminds me of home
Ooo... yeah it sure reminds me of home
Yeah these eggs... they sure taste like rubber
and I only wish the bacon would too
I’m a hundred and fifty thousand miles away
but this place sure reminds me of you
Yeah this place sure reminds me of you
Ooo...
The fake wood panelling on the closet
reminds me of my Dad’s old car
The lampshade... of my Mom’s long skirts
she'd wear gardening in the yard
Yeah these miles are gonna drive me crazy
if the memories don’t
Yeah this hotel room ain’t nowhere near it
but it sure reminds me of home
Ooo... yeah it sure reminds me of home