Ghosts of the American Road
Stateside, this is all I know.
Where the engine of the working class meets the rigors of the road.
I have moved for lack of money, I’ve been moved for lack of love,
To contribute to the greater good, still ain’t good enough.
Out here there are no guardrails, there are only mileposts,
Falling by the wayside with the…
Ghosts of the American Road.
Hang tough, children…here we go again,
Once you’ve been uprooted you’re at the mercy of the wind.
I’ve been blown away by beauty from this paint-by-numbers life.
But, even the “road less travelled” has got billboards and traffic lights.
Drifting by unnoticed by all the mirrors and the smoke,
Whistling past the graveyard go the…
Ghosts of the American Road.
There’s still a long way to go.
I’ve been to New England and down through the South,
The Midwest, the Rust Belt, the old Western towns.
I have looked in every corner, coast to coast ,
…and I keep seeing ghosts.
At a rest area on Route 66,
I saw a kid in the back of an old Pontiac.
With his whole life before him and a couple million miles to go,
He smiled and waved, then he faded to grey.
Now, I’m not focused on illusions, I am not lost in the past,
I’m just driving across America on a half a tank of gas.
The things that come to haunt us are the things we’ve come to know.
Kindred spirits, restless souls.
A disembodied voice on the phone.
If seeing is believing, we are…
Ghosts of the American Road
There’s still a long way to go.
Someday I’ll find my way home.
(c) Kevin Higgins