The airwaves are a little different out here. |
Headed south on 85 ‘tween Dickenson and Belle Fourche Through the great big empty Somewhere near Slim Buttes CD player broke in Bismark Now there’s nothing but the radio And miles of two lane blacktop With many more to go Not many stations in these parts Just a preacher and Art Bell One tells of ghosts and UFOs The other warns of hell Then you lock on to a station It sounds like old rock and roll and blues Except there isn’t any DJ No commercials and no news The songs sound old But you haven’t ever heard them The singer sounds familiar But you can’t place him He tells you all his troubles As you drive through the night You listen to him sing and play Under the full moon’s light Some songs are a confession Some are just tears to a tune Lost love and hurt and heartache And getting old too soon You feel like you know him As you listen to each song The words are so familiar You can even sing along He sings of things so deep inside Of mountain tops and dreams and dance Of the darkness and the light Bad luck, broken hearts and romance He touches something inside you On your midnight drive Not just a voice on the airwaves He is real, he’s alive Your mind begins to wander as he gets too close And he is singing just for you You start to lose the signal It’s lost no matter what you do And it’s like he was never ever there Even though he seemed a friend But like the waning, moon the music’s gone You won’t hear his songs again |