Stranded on The Toll way Again

Expiration puts me on the street.
Running dogs have carried me far.
The Phoenix sun is putting on the heat.
Stick out my thumb and hope to catch a car.

Rocks of wood make strange companions
Trucking high above the gaping canyons.
Saint Johns helped me out of a fix.
Then put me on route six sixty six.

Three days on the road trying hard to reach my destination.
Three days of airing my thumb, each ride brings new revelations.
Albuquerque is pushing me.
My feet feel the sting of pain.
Is this called fate or destiny?
Stranded on the toll way again.

Windowless jeeps will carry you high.
Cold mountain air is giving me chills.
Bottle of brandy helps us get by.
You do what you can, it's a matter of will.

Woodcutters living their lives in the past.
The world is left behind like bits of broken glass.
I wouldn't wish to stay for more than one night.
I'm back on the road with the morning light.

Three days on the road without much time for closing my eyes.
Three days of airing my thumb watching the cars go by.
This Tulsa town is drowning me.
Standing in the pouring rain.
Is this called fate or destiny?
Stranded on the toll way again.

Wandering truckers travel alone.
Heaven sent this one my way.
Sleepless hallucinations rattle my bones.
Keeping him awake is my fair today.
Miles of road humming under the wheels.
No one could know exactly how it feels.
The road is a place where lives are bought and sold.
And sooner or later you're left out in the cold.

Three days on the road and I'm almost there.
Three days of airing my thumb feeling so much worse for the ware.
The Chicago loop has no room for me.
It's late night underneath and my fear is plain.
Is this called fate or destiny?
Stranded on the toll way again.

Michael R. Roth

Archived 04/09/2010