 God rides with us wild bunch, this fact I’ve been told;
wild crazy people of which He can’t get hold. He watches patiently and lets our days play out. He gave us free will, a dangerous pill, but that’s what it’s all about. Wilder than a stormy night, more brazen than an angry sea, God rides with a wild bunch, the likes of you and me. We’re wild in anticipation of what we believe we can do. We’re wild in knowing that living in a box ain’t right for me and you. Yup we’re kind of crazy and don’t always follow the rules. Directing our what, when, where, and how makes us wicked blue. Nope, we don’t step nicely into line as we are told. We prefer instead, to live our lives as they unfold. I know that God loves us, people like you and me. We’re like the prodigal son, yes, on this we can agree. He lets us stray in hopes that back to Him we’ll find our way. We’ve had one false start after another, day after fruitless day. He lets us play and stays away, knowing that over us He is Sovereign. He lets us amble free, ‘cuz the gift he gave was never to hone us in. We are wilder than the average being, a deeper void it seems, in us. Maybe this is where we fail ourselves, searching high and low, we fill ourselves with empty things, we find we just can’t trust. We set off again to wander, from our mistakes we feel the blow. It’s how we come to realize we should have stayed by You. All His life, Jesus was thought a rebel, this we’re told is true. He made baskets overflow with fish, when he was given only two. He preached words that many do not want to hear. He preached love, oh God above, not prejudice, hate or fear. God rides with us wild bunch, this fact I’ve been told; wild crazy people of which He can’t get hold. He watches patiently and lets our days play out. He gave us free will, a dangerous pill, but that’s what it’s all about. So come ride with us, come ride with us, hard and fast. It’s not the years, that bring the tears, it’s just the years won’t last.
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 My truck broke down and I’m not far behind.
I must admit, I’m no longer the traveling kind. For the last dozen years, the road’s been taking me down, cutting me into pieces and grinding me into the ground. My body’s gone roque, it left me some years ago. I’d love to have some of it back but unfortunately, body parts don’t regrow once hacked. I’ve lost a finger here, a part of my big toe there; I ride my brakes too hard and pop my clutch without fear. We truckers, always in a rush, get the containers from A to Z now that they’re on land and no longer at sea. We truckers, we make the economy run; one of the most patriotic job under the sun. I drive a “big” dog, it’s been an honor you see. For the last thirty years, my rig’s been a part of me. It’s the marrow in my bones, my best company. When I’m traveling alone, other than my wife, the road’s been the total of my life. How many birthdays and anniversaries have I missed; that tender caress, that goodnight kiss? There’s a price for everything, this I’ve always been told, even more now that I’m old. I’m writing the last few chapters of my log book, why don’t you stay a bit longer and gander a look? The road don’t call me no more, the miles have taken their toll. I started as a young man and now have grown very old. I wouldn’t change the work that I’ve already done, this is now my swan song; this is my last run. One final dance down the highway, I’m pulling seven ton, from Boston, to Gary, then on to San Antonio. The road don’t call me no more. I’m kissing my rig goodbye, I’m finally staying home.  There was too much idle chat,
It just became such a bore, It rendered you unsettled, As you got up to reach the door. They spoke about your neighbor, So different but a damn good friend, Who really didn’t fit in with them, He was out but you were in. You didn’t say a thing, You just listened to their everything, And not one word passed by, challenged, You just let them run their mouth free, They ripped at you, they ripped at me. We don’t need this club, We don’t need to be a member, We don’t need to be pretenders, So no foul moment, we’ll surrender. We’d rather be a lonely pair, My faithful girl and me, Than belong to your foolish club, As a member and have a key. They rag all night, on everyone, Who doesn’t see it their way, Who doesn’t play the game they do, The bigger house, the bigger car, The golf and tennis club, the pool. We don’t need this club, We don’t need to be a member, We don’t need to be pretenders, So no foul comment, we’ll surrender. We’d rather be a lonely pair, My faithful girl and me, Than belong to your foolish club, As a member and have a key.  If I were a chiseled man
My pecks would burst through my satin shirts And my abs would be nothing less than a six-pack An eight pack, a twelve pack. If I were a chiseled man My arms would be tattooed with the map of the world Arms so damn large, people would stop and stare And say, “Wow, where did you get those arms? They are the arms of a chiseled man.” If I were a chiseled man My mind would be stealth Firing at a million miles a second And there would be nothing that I couldn’t do Or think through to conclusion That is, if I were a chiseled man. If I were a chiseled man I would reach deep into my heart The most private of my private places Where I hide, uninterrupted from the mundane world Undisturbed and uncluttered, where my true self reigns And screams out, “Yes, it’s me, yes me!” Who can now chisel out a deeper love, With an edge so pure it cannot be contested As I reach out to perpetuity As I seek your love to find me. If I were a chiseled man Yes, I would declare the love I have for you No longer burdened by denial Carrying the runway of my strong solid back Held true by my muscular thighs A platform of emotional granite Yes, again, that is, if I were a chiseled man If I were a chiseled man, I could face my lies And not be as burdened by the emptiness Of a much too steamy August night Serenaded by the thousands of peepers Laying their song on this not-too-chiseled man |