Everybody here walks in Lincoln’s shadow I’m still trying to step out of my own Spent half my life trying to leave this town Now I don’t know where else I’d go I can drive these streets with my eyes half closed Past the churches, the diners, the old brick roads Where the same men sit on the courthouse square Talking weather and baseball like time lives there I was eighteen, swearing I’d be gone Chasing city lights before the summer was done But the years slipped by like the Sangamon runs And somehow I woke up thirty-one Everybody here walks in Lincoln’s shadow Trying to make peace with who they were Tourists come looking for a story worth telling I’m still trying to find my own words And the town I thought would never understand me Knows my name in every place I go Maybe home ain’t where you stop feeling restless Maybe home’s just where the restless go The old boys down at the bait shop smile Ask if I’m bringing someone by I say, “Maybe Sunday, if the river’s low” They nod like they already know Funny how I rehearsed those fights in my head All the bridges I’d burn, all the blood I’d shed But most folks just shrugged and carried on While I was busy proving them wrong Everybody here walks in Lincoln’s shadow Trying to make peace with who they were Tourists come looking for a story worth telling I’m still trying to find my own words And the town I thought would never understand me Knows my name in every place I go Maybe home ain’t where you stop feeling restless Maybe home’s just where the restless go The porch lights still glow on the streets I knew Some burn for ghosts, some burn for someone new Every year I swear I’ll leave this place behind Then autumn comes and changes my mind Maybe freedom wasn’t getting out alive Maybe freedom’s learning not to run and hide Maybe every road I disappeared down Was only drawing circles through this town Everybody here walks in Lincoln’s shadow Looking back at footprints in the dirt Me, I’m still writing my own little chapter In a town that already knows how it hurts And the boys who taught me fishing by the river Got a little older just like me Maybe home ain’t something you escape from Maybe home’s the thing that lets you be I can drive these streets with my eyes half closed Past the churches, the diners, the old brick roads And for the first time in a long, long while They don’t feel smaller than my life ____________________________________ Original lyrics by Mickey Wilder © Mickey Wilder - 2026
