Oh we drove on the breeze,
through the tunnels of trees,
with the branches,
hanging over our heads.
With the headlights high-beaming,
I laid there half-dreaming,
in the backseat,
more like a bed.
As the yellow-white glow,
cast out on the road,
well we kept driving slow,
with nowhere to go.
And you singing those old songs,
like Home on the Range,
American Pie,
and Sweet Baby James.
And I’d listen full-hearted,
when you’d really cut loose,
about trains to the coast,
and those pea greens and blues.
And we’d go on for hours,
through the country road maze,
oh with you up there singing,
’bout Sweet Baby James.
Lord,
take me back,
to the slow ride days,
past the railroad tracks.
Through the woods,
way past Grandma’s house.
Where the skies get dark,
but the stars come out.
I said Lord,
to those days,
of the long long slow rides,
on the lost highways.
On those cold, cold nights,
in the warm backseat,
with you singing your heart out,
on the way-back-streets.