She packed a suitcase full of rainboots and rebellion
Skipped town on Tuscaloosa without tellin'
Watched podcasts while eating cotton candy
Then Googled best tattoo shops near Burnside & Sandy
She’s got a plan and a polka-dot Veedub bus
Headed northwest.
Portland or bust

She wants espresso with existential dread
A roommate who spies on the Feds
She heard the air smells faintly of rum
Where waterfalls murmur you’re welcome

She’s going where the roses lean low
Where guitars hum like haunted radios
Wants to taste that raspberry ghost of a glaze
And get lost in drizzle for thirty-three days
She wants to howl beneath Saint Helens dome
Find an organic punk band and call it home
With a dream and a worn thrift-store Strat
She’s moving to Portland, Cuz that’s where it’s at

She’s never seen a barista with face tattoos
Or dogs in rain coats hauling local craft-brews 
She wants brunch at 2, band practice at 4
Then karaoke Björk in a vegan hardware store
She’s reading Bukowski with the back doors ajar
Scribbling riffs on the back of her pink guitar
She’ll chant at a protest, hug a raccoon
Make her debut at the Holocene soon

She’s chasing the weird, the unwashed, the true
She wants to kiss in line at Salt & Straw too
She dreams in synths and cinnamon glaze
And she’s learning the chords to the Portland way

She’s going where bridges rise like hymns
Where drag queens strut exoskeleton limbs
Wants to pose by the “Keep Portland Weird” wall
Finger-pick a song about late-night sprawl
With rain on her boots and wind in her hair
She’s moving to Portland like she’s already there, yeah, yeah

Her accent’s cracked molasses sweet
But now she’s barefoot on Hawthorne Street
With Google Maps and a borrowed kazoo
She hums her anthem through Powell’s queue

She met a street performer singing blues to a gull
A unicyclist whose flaming bagpipes were never dull
She’s learning that weird’s not always loud
Sometimes it’s quiet, awkward and proud
And under the moss, beneath every stare
She finds a truth that smells like damp air

She thought she’d find noise and clamoring freaks
But it’s hummus, heartbreak, and gray and bleak
Still she strums songs with sweet voodoo charm
And grins when the icing’s nice and warm

Now she thrives where art’s confusion is exquisite style
With a fridge full of pickle things that’ll last quite a while
She’s got bandmates who chant in key if C
And a cat named Amadeus in Apartment Thirteen
If you see her dancing in the fog at dusk—
She’s no digital weirdo like Musk
That’s the girl from Alabama. 
She came to Portland 
or bust


Portland or Bust

Raise Your Spirit

Badass Woman

Stand Up, My Child

We Shouldn't Count on the Rain

Heaven

When your road is rocky, When you don’t know where to go
Close your eyes and think of what, We both already know

When you’re weak and hungry, When you feel you’re all alone
Lift your eyes to heaven, You’ll see where you are goin’

Heaven is a place where lovers congregate each day
Unlock the pearly gates, take my hand and come this way
Heaven is a place for sinners, saints and in between
We don’t care much about your past or which way you lean

When frustration bites you angrily When your patience wears too thin
Drop what you are doing, lover Please let me in

Then you’ll find some quiet You will find your inner peace
Let me touch you tenderly Let me help you find release

Cuz heaven is a place where lovers congregate each day
Unlock the pearly gates, take my hand and come this way
Heaven is a place for sinners, saints and in between
We don’t care much about your past or which way you lean

All who wander are not lost All who wander are loved      
Darkened hearts can’t see the cost, of all the light from above


Audio created using Mureka AI.
Audio edited in Audacity, Mastered in Mixea, at DistroKid.com
Lyrics by Vince Dickinson
ASCAP Work ID 920672194

The New-Tron Stars

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