I left college, packed up my car,
didn't know where I was driving to.
Drove up Route 81, saying goodbye to the mountains.
And I still feel like a part of me is
driving that car.
If I were divided into fours,
a quarter of me would still be driving.

Left with a three quarter beat.
Waltzing with just a part of me.

It's the Shenandoah Waltz,
Careful you don't fall.
it's the Shenandoah Waltz,
dancing without my all.

So I drove towards the sea,
then left for a whole 'nother country
to escape the inevitable post-collegiate misery.
But even overseas I still walked to a
three-quarter beat.
Humans only have two feet:
Do the Logic: Waltzes can get tricky.

it's the Shenandoah Waltz,
three beats is a stall.
it's the Shenandoah Waltz,
dancing without my all.

So I came back to this city,
and here the states number fifty.
Even that's an even number,
I guess they just work better.
The sidewalks have gotten used to my pattern, I guess.
They always know when I'm coming:
Left-right-left, left-right-left.

Dancing in the shape of a box
won't get me very far at all.

It's the Shenandoah Waltz,
three beats is my stall.
It's the Shenandoah Waltz,
dancing without my all
my all
my all
my fall
my fall
my downfall