Gravel Road Lyrics

	作词 : Whitmore
	It must be that time of year
	I'm feeling that pull again
	I've got to get away from here
	and back to where my feet can stand
	Back to where the trees grow tall
	and ain't a sound for miles around
	Except for the distant call
	of that lonely coyote's howl
	Life's mysteries unravel when my tires hit that gravel
	and I leave the paved road far behind
	Every breath I breathe is one step closer to me
	easing my worried mind
	Way back in the sticks
	is where I feel alive
	in my rusty old '66
	that won't even go fifty five
	Nothing can compare
	to the joy that I've found
	every time I go back there
	to my own spiritual ground
	I'll make a quart of sweet corn whiskey
	from ten gallons of sour mash
	I'll turn a pile of firewood
	into a pile of sky grey ash
	If there's anything left inside me
	that remembers what it's like to feel
	that cold rain falling on the top of my head
	and the mud beneath my heels

	zuo ci : Whitmore
	It must be that time of year
	I' m feeling that pull again
	I' ve got to get away from here
	and back to where my feet can stand
	Back to where the trees grow tall
	and ain' t a sound for miles around
	Except for the distant call
	of that lonely coyote' s howl
	Life' s mysteries unravel when my tires hit that gravel
	and I leave the paved road far behind
	Every breath I breathe is one step closer to me
	easing my worried mind
	Way back in the sticks
	is where I feel alive
	in my rusty old ' 66
	that won' t even go fifty five
	Nothing can compare
	to the joy that I' ve found
	every time I go back there
	to my own spiritual ground
	I' ll make a quart of sweet corn whiskey
	from ten gallons of sour mash
	I' ll turn a pile of firewood
	into a pile of sky grey ash
	If there' s anything left inside me
	that remembers what it' s like to feel
	that cold rain falling on the top of my head
	and the mud beneath my heels

	zuò cí : Whitmore
	It must be that time of year
	I' m feeling that pull again
	I' ve got to get away from here
	and back to where my feet can stand
	Back to where the trees grow tall
	and ain' t a sound for miles around
	Except for the distant call
	of that lonely coyote' s howl
	Life' s mysteries unravel when my tires hit that gravel
	and I leave the paved road far behind
	Every breath I breathe is one step closer to me
	easing my worried mind
	Way back in the sticks
	is where I feel alive
	in my rusty old ' 66
	that won' t even go fifty five
	Nothing can compare
	to the joy that I' ve found
	every time I go back there
	to my own spiritual ground
	I' ll make a quart of sweet corn whiskey
	from ten gallons of sour mash
	I' ll turn a pile of firewood
	into a pile of sky grey ash
	If there' s anything left inside me
	that remembers what it' s like to feel
	that cold rain falling on the top of my head
	and the mud beneath my heels

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