We loaded our provisions in a shoulder bag,
Eased the car into the morning haze
The night before I’d played my soul up north a way
Driving back to drive away again

The radio brought baseball from Toronto
Early on the way to 116
We waited for the rendezvous at Martha’s
Sky of blue and sea of sandy green

Sullen rains in southern counties, wily winds upon the plain
Every now and then a sunset, and a tacit vow to see it all again

Can’t say that we started down the right path;
Can’t say I was ever one to mind
We went from DMB to DMC to symphony
Any day or season, any time

Yes, from ferryboats to city busses, nothing kept us down:
Dome to hillside, smoky bar to beach
We waded lines through different zip codes; sometimes scores of empty chairs
Neither seemed outside our dogged reach

On a long and lonesome highway, east of OlyWA,
You can listen to my carburetor coughing in the dark
As we limp back to the city—one more down, another comin’,
Turn the page…

Till one night Jimmy stood before us in a damp and chilly scene,
Surrounded most by Gore-Tex and grass skirts
And it hit me just like lightning (though it might have been the rum):
We’d found wisdom for the ages
On the region’s many stages, me and Jay