May '54,
I used to live by the country
working so hard
driving a truck in harvest time.
Boots, ripped overalls,
cup, dirty hands.
Road in front of my eyes
blurry skyline
in this wasteland
Sun burns my skin
leaning my arm out the window.
Wind blows my hand,
slips through my fingers so warm.
Drive, 5 bucks a week.
Time's not enough.
Life it ain't too long.