Hiker's Paradise Lyrics

You were born and raised in the cold northeast

And your papa was a roadside prophet

Nicotine on his nails and teeth

Talk of war in a time of peace

Could never line your papa's pocket

And it's thrice distilled for the saint's relief

He told you, though you never listened

That the road to hell is hiker's paradise

And everything before you get there

Sure looks nice

And though you say you hardly miss him

Hard it is to know all that he sacrificed

Sitting in his armchair sipping old advice

Some say man is a sour seed

Forever tethered to his selfish sorrow

Some say love is a kind of greed

But it's cruel indeed that everything you need's

Already written in the books you borrowed

For it's hard to learn what you cannot read

He told you, though you never listened

That the road to hell is hiker's paradise

And everything before you get there

Sure looks nice

And though you say you hardly miss him

Hard it is to know all that he sacrificed

Sitting in his armchair sipping old advice