Coffee ring on a folded map Traced the route through the middle gap Fourteen miles till the city line Trying to read every highway sign Got a feeling in my collarbone Halfway free and a half alone Wondering if I should call it in Or see where the turns begin Is it always this clear in the morning air? When you stop to look and nobody's there Just a warm wind running through a open lane And a quiet song on a windowpane I am trying to find where the pavement bends Where the light gets low and the waiting ends Dusty shoes on the passenger seat Counting beats on the quiet street Old guitar with a worn-down bridge Watching sun come over the ridge Maybe I am right where I ought to be Not a step ahead, not a memory Is it always this clear in the morning air? When you stop to look and nobody's there Just a warm wind running through a open lane And a quiet song on a windowpane I am trying to find where the pavement bends Where the light gets low and the waiting ends No grand plan written in the sand Just two bare hands on a steering wheel Learning how to feel What is real Is it always this clear in the morning air? When you stop to look and nobody's there Just a warm wind running through a open lane And a quiet song on a windowpane I am trying to find where the pavement bends Where the light gets low and the waiting ends Where the waiting ends Yeah, the waiting ends Just a open lane
