Worn Roads Home

It sat beneath the rusted awning Just a faded coat of blue

I thought I'd inherited a burden

Something past its prime,

way overdue

But in the glovebox was a map of years

With hand-drawn lines and tears

Found some line and weathered tackle

Old Polaroid pictures in a tin

A note that said

"we made it to the water

Just before the storm rolled in"

Now every scratch upon the wooden dash Is a ghost that's talking

back

(talking back) Oh,

I'm

driving down your highways Looking through your eyes

Revisiting the diner Underneath these golden skies

I wish that I could talk to you

But your truck is carrying me through

Found the overlook at sunset

Just like the picture that you drew

I drank my coffee from your thermos

And swore I felt a piece of you

The world you saw is still alive and well

In this old engine's rhythmic swell

And though the road ahead is winding And your seat is empty

now

I'll keep this old wheel spinning I'm gonna make you proud

(gonna make you proud)

I'll keep the tradition rolling on (rolling on) Yeah,

your map is in my hands (hummmmm)