Rust on The Chrome

Cold keys and numb hands, the same routine start.

Warming up slow in the driveway tonight.

Knees sound like old gears slowing apart,

When I climb inside and turn on the light.

The dashboard has weathered a dozen hard frosts,

And I’ve done the same in the skin that I’m in.

Just counting the mileage and forgetting the costs,

With a heavy old road in the ribs deep within.

But I turn that key,

And the spark takes a hold.

I'm a little bit slow,

But I’m clearing the cold.

Rust on the chrome, but the spark runs deep.

Got a lifelong promise that I’m gonna keep.

Scarred and shaken, but she won’t break down,

We're the toughest piece of metal in this whole damn town.

Let the fast lanes fly, let the engines roar,

We’re rust on the chrome, and we’re at the door.

The mirror is showing a changing old view,

With silver lines where the dark used to grow.

My back always grumbles when the rain is due,

And my feet take a second to find where to go.

I miss a clean turn but I catch the grace,

I just laugh at myself and I let it all be.

The engine might shake but it keeps up the pace,

And that’s always been quite enough for me.

So I hold that wheel,

And I roll right on through.

Yeah, the gears might fight,

But I know what to do.

The fast lanes are flying with the young and the blind,

Just chasing down headlights against the dark sky.

They’re burning up rubber to leave it behind,

While I’m watching the world as it passes me by.

The transmission groans when I drop it down low,

And the steering pulls hard to the heavy side.

But there’s a sweet comfort in moving this slow,

When you’ve got nothing left that you're trying to hide.

There are deep scars cut in the leather seat,

Cracks in the wheel and the marrow of bone.

But I’ve faced every storm that I had to meet,

And I’ve carried the weight of the things I own.

So if I should sputter at the top of the hill,

Or the steady old rhythm should start to fade,

I’m still moving forward on a quiet will,

Living right here in the choices I made.

The sun’s going down on the county line,

And the high beams are cutting a path through the gray.

I see the front porch light ahead in the mist,

Burning a welcome and clearing the way.

The tires keep time on the bitumen floor,

As I finally drop this heavy old load.

Just a few minutes more to the kitchen door,

The king of the heap and the lord of the road.

Now I kill the lights,

And I shut it all down.

Yeah, I’m safe inside,

Back in my hometown.

Old frame, true line,

Still runs on time.

The gears might complain,

But it handles the rain.

Just a little more time,

And we'll be doing just fine.

Rolling home...

Yeah, we're rolling home.