You eighteen wheel cowboy, you everyman’s brother
Climb the cab, kick the clutch, turn the key, feel her shudder
You gray bearded nomad, you highway-born child
Trucking lumber across America, for a quarter per mile
Pull onto the shoulder, between Denver and Boulder
I stand holding my thumb up, guitar slung across my back, watching my breath rest in the cold air

Soft words come from your rumbling lungs
“It’s our lucky day, son”

You ask me, “Can you make that old guitar music? Can you carry a tune?
My radio broke back past Idaho. I got fifteen hundred miles of pavement to offer you
You got a ticket to ride in the passenger’s side
Long as the songs ring off the rocky range
Long as you play the plains of the Midwest away
Long as you’re bluer than the grass in the southern states
Long as you can cry with the clouds in the northern grey”

I’m a lonely hitchhiker. Please take me where you will
You took us across Kansas, through Missouri, down Kentucky, to Nashville
Driving the line beneath the rift in the sky
Where bruised clouds riding twisters
Met blue skies lined by live wires

Soft light comes from a humbling sun
It’s a lucky day

It was around Kansas City I’d settled my seat
At least enough to speak while I was changing my strings
“How’s a rag-tag freeloader like me, get along on the road
Not just a warm cab and the fast track, but an open ear I can sing at?”
You said “My old man was a cross-country driver
He rarely spoke, but these words set me fire
‘Ain’t no better charm
For an eighteen wheel cowboy
Than a man and his guitar
Trading songs for the countryside'”

So don’t pass by a traveler
With music to offer
Because in twilight the bastards
Of devils and monsters

Will weigh on the eyelids of
Of road weary truckers
Without the kindness of strangers
The heaven sent ushers

And I sang to the thunder
Tuned my strings to the tires
Strummed ballads of travelers
Told the stories of liars

Until as the crow flies it’s a quick hike
To the Pennsylvania state line

Soft songs come from my trembling hands
It’s our lucky day, friend

©2006 Nicholas Hohman