Atlanta's a distant memory, Montgomery a recent blur
and Tulsa burns on the desert floor like a signal fire.
I got Willie on the radio, a dozen things on my mind
and number one is fleshing out these dreams of mine.
I've got 200 more miles
of rain asphalt and light before I sleep
but there'll be no warm sheets
or welcoming arms to fall into tonight.
In Nashville there is a lighter in a case for all to see
it speaks of dreams and heartaches left unsung.
And in the corner stands a guitar
and lonesome words scrawled in a drunken hand.
I'm traveling paths, travelled hard before
and I'm beginning to understand.
That I've got 200 more miles
of rain asphalt and light before I sleep
but there'll be no warm sheets
or welcoming arms to fall into tonight.
You say that I am crazy, my life wasting on this road
that time will find my dreams - scattered dead and cold.
But ahead there is a light
drawing me to reach an end
and when I reach there, I'll turn back
and you and I can begin again.
I've got 200 more miles
of rain asphalt and light before I sleep
but there'll be no warm sheets
or welcoming arms to fall into tonight.
I've got 200 more miles
of rain asphalt and light before I sleep
but I wouldn't trade all your golden tomorrow's
for one hour of this night.
Atlanta's a distant memory, Montgomery a recent blur
and Tulsa burns on the desert floor - like a signal fire.
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