Kicking out the backstreet Jesus Rolling the dice, picking up the pieces Putting down the broom and going on strike I don't know about love but I know what I like I'd like to find a quiet place With space to turn around in And not the cities that I've been found inside of I'd like to breathe some air The road is open And there's music of the trucks Humming down the highway Followed by the wind going my way Trains moving cross country Motorcycles moving from town to downtown Jet planes flying upside down Many cars, many drivers I feel like the only survivor Rush hour for everyone but me, The traffic lights and the setting sun Back on the road again I'll go wherever the wind blows Back on the road again