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Good Intentions Paving Company

Twenty miles left to the show.

Hello, my old country, Hello.

Stars are just beginning to appear,

and I have never, in my life,

before been here.And it's my heart, not me,

who cannot drive,

at which conclusion you arrived,

watching me sit here, bolt upright,

and cry for no good reason

at the Eastering sky,and the tilt of this strange nation,

and the will to remain for the duration

(waving the flag,

feeling it drag).

Like a bump on a bump on a log, baby;

like I'm in a fistfight with the fog, baby;

step, ball-change, and a pirouette!And I regret

how I said to you,

Honey, just open your heart,

when I've got trouble

even opening a honey jar.

And that, right there, is where we are.I've been fessing, double-fast,

addressing questions nobody asked.

I'll get this joy off of my chest, at last,

and I will love you

till the noise has long since passed.I did not mean to shout. Just drive.

Just get us out, dead of alive.

The road's too long to mention--

Lord, it's something to see!--

laid down by the

Good Intentions Paving Company,

all the way to the thing

we've been playing at, darling.

I can see that you're wearing

your staying-hat, darling.For the time being, all is well.

Won't you love me a spell?

This is blindness beyond all conceiving,

while, behind us, the road is leaving

and leaving, and falling back

like a rope gone slack.Well, I saw straightaway

that the lay was steep,

but I feel for you, honey,

easy as falling asleep.

And that, right there,

is the course I keep.And no amount of talking

is going to soften the fall,

but, like after the rain,

step out of the overhang. That's all.

It had a nice ring to it,

when the old opry house rang,

so, with a solemn auld lang

syne, sealed, delivered,

I sang.And there is hesitation,

and it always remains

(concerning you, me,

and the rest of the gang),

And in our quiet hour,

I feel I see everything,

and am in love

with the hook

upon which everyone hangs.And I know you meant

to show the extent

to which you gave a goddang--

you ranged real hot and real cold,

but I'm sold.

I am at home on that range.

And I do hate to fold,

right here, at the top of my game,

when I've been trying

with my whole heart and soul

to stay right here, in the right lane.

But it can make you feel over, and old

(Lord, you know it's a shame),

when I only want for you to pull over

and hold me,

till I can't remember my own name.

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