Lyrics

“Seven Hundred and Seventy-Three Miles (And Headed Home)”
Sequel to “Seven Hundred and Seventy-Two Miles”

It’s funny how life circles back—
After all the tears, the silence, the space.
The miles once measured in heartbreak and distance
Now count down like a prayer toward grace.

She waited. He wandered.
She healed. He learned.
And somewhere in that stillness between them,
The fire never truly burned out—it just quietly burned.

Now the phone calls don’t ache,
They laugh again—deep belly laughs and soft, tired ones.
He tells her he’s put the land up for sale,
And she whispers, “You sure you’re ready to come home?”

But Texas don’t scare him anymore—
Not when her arms are there.
Not when her voice is the porch light left on,
Calling him back through night and air.

They dream together now,
Of a little piece of dirt just out of town.
Two rocking chairs, a red gate,
Some chickens, maybe a cow.

They plant plans like seeds in the late-night talks:
A dog, a garden, a truck with more rust than paint.
Not perfect—but theirs.
Real, raw, unfiltered faith.

She’s still anxious sometimes,
And he still talks too loud when he’s scared.
But now, they reach for each other
Instead of running from the weight they shared.

So tomorrow, he drives that last mile,
From 772 to the next stretch of sky.
Not to chase her—
But to stand beside her.

They ain't fixing the past.
They’re building a future.
Side by side, calloused hands, beating hearts—
On their own little patch of forever.