A highlight of Orville Peck’s magnificent ‘Mule’ album, ‘Run Out of Road’ was one of my favorites with its driving force and deliciously dismissive sentiment. The story of the song concerns a former lover who has chosen to try a different person and path from our protagonist, but in the end may wish for a do-over; it’s a rare instance of accountability and karma coming full-circle, with a dash of forgiveness that merely gets hinted at and implied. (That’s the only sort of forgiveness some of us emotionally unevolved humans can genuinely give after we’ve been hurt.)
Hands on the wheel, but your head’s in a storm
Chasing the sun ain’t keepin’ you warm
Said you had to go start another beginning
You can have a change of heart, but you can’t change your decision
If you’ve ever been left for another person, you know the kind of blameless heartache that can result – because you can’t blame people for who they fall in love with – it simply happens. How they navigate that occurrence is up to them (and where any blame might come into play), while how you navigate it (and whether you remain blameless) will be up to you.
Don’t come running back to me when you run out of road
Expecting I’m still behind the door that you slammed closed
The price of being wild and free can leave you more alone
So don’t come running back to me when you, you, you run out of road
Sometimes people don’t leave for another person, but for their own freedom or uncertainty, and these moves prove trickier to manage on an emotional level. Then you can’t blame someone else for the demise of a relationship – and that might mean the cause is you, even when they say it isn’t. Such trickery the human heart infallibly proves fallible. In this cowboy’s song, these boots were made for walking, even running, in the direction away from such a toxic situation, and perhaps such a toxic person.
My boots on the ground, blue skies
You like how I’m moving on with my life?
And I’ll admit you cross my mind, but not enough to cross that line
You can have a change of heart, but you won’t break mine a second time
The grass isn’t always greener on the other side of mountain or pasture, and the whole bird in the hand versus two in the bush parable has been lost to overdone lore so no one bothers to heed its warning anymore. Those of us who still believe in the lessons of fairy tales know better – those who don’t take their chances of running out of road. The risk of regret is great, and I’ve never wanted to fuck around with giving ground to potential regret.
Don’t come running back to me when you run out of road
Expecting I’m still behind the door that you slammed closed
The price of being wild and free can leave you more alone
So don’t come running back to me when you, you, you run out of road
I’ve dodged a few of these bullets in my lifetime – some have remained friends, some have dwindled away – and in the end I’ve never wondered if it would have been better to fight for something between us because it never was. A few have, in retrospect, admitted they may not have given us a fair shot, but they were always right to end it, and stronger than me to do so. If they regret it, and come running back, there isn’t as much gratification in that as you might think, only sadness over a loss they brought onto themselves. And that’s never as satisfying as you want it to be, even if you don’t want them anymore.
The day will come, you’ll tire of the not-so-great unknown
Don’t come running back to me when you, you, you run out of road
