Billy still lives by the water tower Same white house, same rusted gate I spent twenty years calling that failure From three states away He buried his mother one cold December Raised two boys on a mechanic's wage I kept changing towns and telephone numbers Billy learned to stay I thought I knew Which one was moving I thought I knew Which one stood still I thought the brave ones left I thought the strong ones ran Thought freedom meant a highway And never needing plans Now I'm standing in his driveway With more miles than I can name Looking at the man who stayed Wondering which one of us changed He's got grease beneath his fingernails A bad left knee, a paid-off Ford He laughs when I tell him all my stories Like he's heard them all before His youngest girl brings out two coffees Says, “Dad talks about you still” Twenty years I called this town a prison He just calls it home on the hill I thought the brave ones left I thought the strong ones ran Thought freedom meant a highway And never needing plans Now I'm standing in his driveway With more miles than I can name Looking at the man who stayed Wondering which one of us changed Billy said, “You always were good at leaving” I said, “You always knew when not to” Neither one of us laughed Maybe brave ain't leaving Maybe strong ain't standing still Maybe every man just carries The kind of weight he will He waved from underneath the porch light I pulled slowly through the gate Thinking about the roads I followed And the man who stayed
