Oh it’s two more loads of inbound
And the streets of home I’ll see
And the tension of the tarmac
And the hunching, cramped up quarters
That for days have twisted me,
I’ll exchange for pause, and prize and
Love at play.
And the trip this time was testing
And the load a deuce to strap.
And the drop-offs never ready,
Not a one.
And the hills so often amber
With their crowning frosted yield,
Hold a black ice threat of havoc,
Not much fun.
But it’s miles that I am killing
As the state lines come and go,
And the coffee steels this drover
And the thoughts of home and loved ones
And the soothing fireside’s glow,
Bring me safely to the finish,
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