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