Barroom Driver
	by Tim Zezula and Tom Lazarich
  
He sits alone
A Drink and a cigarette
And they don’t know, or care
That he can’t forget

An old trucker 
A million miles etched right on his hands
Now he only shifts his eyes
And his chair’s a three foot stand

The wind no longer blows
He’s stuck in the same old place
His bottle holds the rain
He used to feel on his face

And the whiskey helps him see the road
At least in memory
And remember all the good times
And how it used to be

Barroom Driver
He was king
Wheeling with his memories
Some highway he used to know
Barroom Driver
He was king
Loaded up
With nowhere else to go

The spirit of the road
A dying star in his eye
He’d lean his head and listen
When the rigs would roll on by

And every now and then
A horn would blow
And play that trucker’s tune
Sayin’ hold the chair good buddy
You know we’ll be there soon