I start missing you
Days before you leave
I guess it’s a kind of sensory memory
Deep below the conscious
Mind you
I can be on my own
I'm an only child
I like my company
Potter ‘round
Make another pot of
Tea for two is when
You come home
We sit and eat breakfast
Eggs with soldier toast
Buttered well
So you get the edges
Of the things you never say
Distance has a funny way
Of slowly making you someone
That I don’t know

People ask me why
I don’t go on the road with you
I tell them
Here’s a day in the life of a touring muso
Early morning flight
Press all day
City through a window
Air-conditioned room
With a view
Late night
Early morning
Light creeps through the blinds
And the cat
Hungry for her breakfast
Routine keeps me sane
I'm not made
For the lonesome highway
I guess I'm never gonna be
The Joy to your Slim Dusty
But you know I'm always here
When you get home