Draft: 'Midnight on the Interstate'
Pulled over at a rest stop outside Macon around 1 AM with this one half-written on a napkin. The whole song came together in about twenty minutes, which is how you know it was already there—you just had to catch up to it.
Headlights cutting through the Georgia rain Counting down the miles like links of a chain She didn't call, and I didn't stay Just two more ghosts on the interstate
The radio's playing something I used to know A song from a time I let go The DJ talks like he's got all night But I've got 300 miles before the light
Chorus: And the miles roll on like they always do Another town I'm passing through The dotted line, it never ends Just a man and his mistakes, amends Midnight on the interstate Just me and the choices I couldn't shake
The dashboard glow, it paints my face A portrait of a man out of place The exit signs all blur as one Another chapter overshoot and run
Chorus
Bridge: I could turn around at the next state line Call you up and say I'm doing fine But fine's a word I don't know how to use So I keep feeding quarters to the highway's dues
Still rough. The bridge needs work—might cut it entirely and let the second chorus carry out. The metaphor of the dotted line as a lifeline vs. a chain is close but not tight yet. Going to let it sit for a few days before I touch it again.
That's the thing about writing at rest stops: the fluorescent lights are terrible for inspiration but great for honesty.