CRYING ON THE SHOULDER OF THE ROAD
She didn't break, she didn't cry,
she stood her ground, man, she said goodbye,
and just for old times' sake, I slammed the door.
Got as far as I could drive,
then I stopped here to realize
that my world wasn't turning anymore.
Out among the wind and stars
and the headlights of the passing cars,
somewhere between the moon and Mexico...
I don't know where tomorrow leads,
tonight it's just the tequila and me,
crying on the shoulder of the road.
I think I see the first light of day,
pull off into some desert café,
and look back down the road that leads me home...
but objects in my rearview now,
God, they all seem so distant somehow.
Should I turn back around, or just go on?
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