CONCACAF Caravan

Lyrics

[Intro]
The air is thick with diesel.
September, 2013.
Another window fogged with breath.

[Verse 1]
Four hours out of Toluca.
The bus climbs the mountain roads, gears grinding low.
Klinsmann’s up front, staring at the map.
We’re all just staring at the seatback in front of us.
Trying to forget the batteries thrown last time in San Salvador.
Trying to find a piece of clean air to breathe.
This isn't a game, it's a pilgrimage.
A slow caravan through towns with no names in the press release.

[Chorus]
This is the road to the world.
Through the mud of San Pedro Sula.
Through the thin air and the screaming at Estadio Cuscatlán.
This is the CONCACAF caravan.
Three points, or your plane home.
There is no other way.

[Verse 2]
I remember the fog in Panama.
So thick you couldn't see the other end of the pitch.
And the Honduran lineman, some guy we'll never know.
He walked out with a little white towel.
And he wiped the condensation from the goal netting.
Like he was cleaning a sacred window.
Clint Dempsey just stood there, watching.
We all did.
What else can you do when the world dissolves?

[Chorus]
This is the road to the world.
Through the mud of San Pedro Sula.
Through the thin air and the screaming at Estadio Cuscatlán.
This is the CONCACAF caravan.
Three points, or your plane home.
There is no other way.

[Bridge]
Some kids in Atlanta dream of the final.
Lifting the cup under perfect lights.
But the real ones, they dream of this.
The Snow Clásico in Columbus, cleats scraping ice.
The bus ride with a police escort.
The look on Graham Zusi’s face after ninety minutes of hell.
This is where you earn the badge.
Not in the light, but here.
In the fog.

[Outro]
The caravan moves on.
The road unwinds.
Another town.
Another game.