End of the Road
The only thing I’ve done more than drive is sleep.
The truth is I’m tired. The miles run deep.
In my mirror one time I saw a flare of fire.
Thought it was the Hand of Doom,
just a chunka chunka burnin’ tire.
Gotta get back to Tangle Town,
I know which way the streets run.
If I get lost one more time
I believe I’ll become undone.
I’ve been so long with the eight track blasting,
the wind, the diesel, the CB chatting,
I’ve lost the art of listening to my heart.
In Tangle Town I’ll park my rig,
in the lot between the firehouse and the Pig.
A “For Sale ” sign in the window,
55,000.00 dollars O.B.O.
Time to sleep without dreaming of headlights,
rigged scales, flat tires or truck stop fights.
I got sleep to catch up on, dreams I ain’t had.
The stationary life won’t be so bad.
I’ve sailed the seas, driven the roads,
picked up and dropped off my loads.
I’ve nailed miles to a wandering soul,
out-thought the state patrol,
had eggs over easy from one coast to the other.
Road Houses, diners, empty parking lots.
Shifted gears like a gambler playing slots.
Shared the road with my sister, my brother.
No place calls me home. Tangle Town,
Tangle Town, I’m coming. Don’t let me down.
TANGLETOWN is officially out-of-print. Contact the publisher regarding availability of archived copies and price: ngbleiATgmailDOTcom.