I left Chicago with the summer time
as the yawning nights drew to a close
Couldnt get the smell of gra** and cheap red wine
out of my mind
Headlights on for it was growing dim
like signal fires to the moon
Young and free and on my own again
Whistling a traveling tune
Whistling a traveling tune
The map sprawls out like a prophecy
The road paves over an old wound
Though my soul is like a flock of geese
headed home to soon
Whistling a traveling tune