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By Arlo Guthrie |
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Lonely sunshine, days come easy, |
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Spend my time alone at rest, |
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And if I were the last to leave here, |
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Now would these roads be any less? |
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Oh, I'm the last to leave. |
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Now would these ribbon highway roads |
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Be less wonderful to me? |
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Why must I always be so slow? |
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Many friends come and go, |
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You know there's a lot of feelings that I've left behind, |
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And it's a lonely world, I know, |
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When your friends are hard to find. |
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But take the time, my memory fails, |
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And soak my eyes in the morning rain, |
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Like a sailor, sailing over Jordan, |
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On the road back home again. |
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Oh, I'm the last to leave. |
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Would these ribbon highway roads |
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Be less wonderful to me? |
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Why must I always be so slow? |
