The road curved as the car rumbled down the dirt path headed towards something better.
Melancholy Children in the car, look back at a house full of memories for the last time.
The man, his knuckles clenched to the wheel, never looks back
There must be something better.

Mother, tired with dirt in her lungs, wishes something better had happened.
The baby heavy in her arms begins to wail, she wishes she could too.
If only that had not happened

Miles and miles trudge by covered with a foot of dirt
They reach the crossroads.
Where to go?
Which way leads to something better?