| In a westerly direction this car is my train
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| I’m driving and I’m wonderin' what it is I’m runnin' from again
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| I feel like an eighty year old man but I’m holdin' on to twenty nine
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| And up ahead on that horizon is the California line
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| Now I’ve had enough of this freedom of the road
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| Never was good with decisions
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| Least that’s what I’ve been told
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| Up ahead a truck’s carryin' a wide load
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| A pre-fab house cut in half
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| Cute little front door and two windows
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| I’m not sure whether to cry or should I laugh
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| You see I broke a home up myself once when I stumbled to that door
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| I read that note by the dawns light
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| Said don’t you come round here anymore
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| Now I’ve had enough of this freedom
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| Of the road
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| Never was good with decisions that’s what I’ve been told
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| I’ve been holdin' on to this ticket cause one day I’ll pass this toll
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| Magic road grant your freedom to some one else for I’ll be comin' home
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| There’ll be no more pay per view movies in these economy motels
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| No more trash in my back seat from micky d’s or taco bell
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| No more layin' my trump card for the ladies in the lounge
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| I think I’ll leave a little somethin' for the next travelin' man to scrounge
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| I know there’s got to be someone out there
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| Who thinks I still have my home
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| I got his picture right here in my back pocket
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| Along with some rocks I found in Arizona I want to show him
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| I know I’ll return to that awkward silence
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| And so much work I’ve never known
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| But I know this man must make amends
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| Cause I known my traveling days are done |