There's a crack in the road
And a scar that runs down through
a vaudevillian stage and a bear in a cage
It's an Indian summer
And the tapwater's brown sand
'cause the lamprey are crammed
'neath the Chippewa Dam

When friends come to town
They say, "What were you thinking? Come home!"
And I tell them I am home

I didn't come for the scenery
I didn't come for the grades
I didn't come for the roar of the stadium
No I came from the grave, boys
And wiped off the frown of a dreary hometown

Now I'm walking through history
And this history's mine, now I'm drunk all the time
Yeah, it's Monday and the townies are wasted

Last day in December
And the world is a white line of unshoveled cars,
'cause you can walk to the bars

In a town where the drinkers are plowed like the roads
In a heap 'round their breakfasts in yesterday's clothes
Sweetheart, this city has beautiful, beautiful snow
Beautiful, beautiful snow
Beautiful, beautiful snow