I come from a loaitin'. What can you leave behind, when you're flyin' lightnin' fast and all alone? Only a trace my friend, spirit of motion born and direction grown. A trace that will not fade in frozen skies, and your journey will be. And if a shadow don't seem much company, well who said it would be? There is a highway, and the homemade lovin' kind, the highway's mine. And we ramblers get the travelin' down, you fathers build with stones, that stand and shine. Heaven's where you find it (azchords.com)
