I am a long haul driver and I’m leaving at dawn.
I don’t think that I will see you,
so I’ll leave the porchlight on.
I know you land at 8 o’clock but I’ll be gone by 5.
So I’ll be waving out the window as I pass the airplane by.
Through Michigan to Illinois and Indiana, too.
I’ll turn the rig towards the north, but still away from you-
are waltzing through my mind’s blue yey and strumming your guitar.
Two thousand miles between us yet I’m never, ever that far.
My cargo’s bound for Winnipeg, by way of St. Paul
I’ll be picking Brown-Eyed-Susan's by the road as twilight falls.
When I cross back into Canda, I may stop for a smoke.
Yes, I know these things will kill me, but my dear, so might the road.
The city lights are rising up the midnight black horizon.
I’m wishing you are with me where no passenger is riding.
With my payload unloaded safely out in the St. Vital,
I will try to catch the Perps at high and lo before last call.
I am a long haul driver and I’m leaving at dawn.
I’ll be home before you wake so leave the porch light on