| The rhythm of the road
|
| Along that river flowing
|
| Never knowing where we’re going, but where we’ve been
|
| And the white lights keep on winding
|
| This road that is reminding we may never feel the same again
|
| Riding round the bend of the winding red dirt trail
|
| The sun it softly sinks below the trees
|
| And that sweet home sense is calling
|
| As the nighttime begins falling
|
| Wherever I hang my head up, all my home
|
| The rhythm of the road
|
| Along that river flowing
|
| Never knowing where we’re going, but where we’ve been
|
| And white lights keep on winding
|
| This road that is reminding we may never feel the same again
|
| Rolling with the wind on a lonesome mountain
|
| I feel the steel rumble in my bones
|
| I hear the whistle in the distance
|
| And I give up my resistance
|
| There ain’t no sense in trying to stop a train
|
| Traveling by foot along the highway to freedom
|
| When wondrous blue sky turns to gray
|
| I see no sign of shelter
|
| And the thunder god I felt her
|
| I will find my things, for I will make my way
|
| The rhythm of the road
|
| Along that river flowing
|
| Never knowing where we’re going, but where we’ve been
|
| And white lights keep on winding
|
| This road that is reminding we may never feel the same again |