The Highway sun said the Georgia Line
was twenty miles away.
I thought I'd take a detour, and see the old home place.
I could have found my way back with my eyes closed,
and in the dark.
This old dirt road 'aint on the map, I know the way by heart.
And the house still looks the same,
though the name on that old mailbox has been changed.
And the tractor turns the Earth,
That my daddy and a mule had plowed up first.
As the memories return, and my eyes begin to burn.
This old place, has new faces in the field.
The rocking chair is on the front porch