Highway One - O - Four

Highway One - O - Four

On a bleak and distant skyline
there's a shack upon a hill,
where windowpanes freeze solidly
in every window sill.

You know the cold is coming,
and a lonely whistle wails
as you watch the last train leaving,
disappearing down the rails.

There's no money for a ticket
and the Chevy's broken down,
Dylan's singing, "Desolation Row,"
no one's left in this old town.

Now you look and have to wonder,
is this all there is to thrill?
You know you'll leave it all behind
for you have to and you will.

The tears are running down her cheeks,
Ma is waving from the door.
You made your own decision,
down highway one-o-four.

You'll never see that shack again,
it's fallen down from Time's neglect.
Now the only thing that's left behind
is the memory you protect..

© Copyright 2006 T.L.Finch (UN: t.l.finch at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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