Bobryanmusic.com: The Tracks
Your Wandering Baby Boy
(Bob Ryan)
© 1993, 2007 by Bob Ryan, Publshed by Leaping Armadillo Music (ASCAP) Written March 1993; Phoenix, AZ
We fight so hard to be free and independent; to chart our own course and determine how our lives will be lived -- only to hear ourselves let out a cry from the heart on a long, unbending highway. Sometimes "freedom" is anything but.
The Bumblebee Cafe
is twenty miles outside of
one more slowly fading western town.
Fan blades turn in slow and lazy circles up above me.
Are you out there, somewhere,
thinking of me?
Isn’t this the way I say I like it to be —
Nobody to answer to, or criticize me?
The waitress fills my glass,
she doesn’t smile . . .
she’s got a daydream going, and it’s nearly closing.
I’m growing old out on this worn out stretch of empty highway;
leaving nothing but my tracks behind me.
Isn’t this the way I say I like it to be —
Nobody to answer to, or criticize me?
I never do walk steady, you know,
I can wander off so easily into the unknown.
Can you hear me call across this distance?
your wandering baby boy is longing to be home.
The Desert Moon motel is neon blue,
the night is full of diesel trucks and cruising music.
I count the time in miles;
I wear my spirit tucked away
down deep inside these empty pockets.
Isn’t this the way I say I like it to be?
Nobody to answer to or criticize me.
I never do walk steady, you know,
I can wander off so easily into the unknown.
Can you hear me call across this distance?
your wandering baby boy is longing to be home.