There is a place called nowhere
Lost in a faded dream.
We hear about it all the time
But rarely is it seen.
Old timers tell of the old town pump
At times we’re not sure what they mean
This time they speak of old fashioned pumps
We ignore the sideways grin.
The sign speaks of parts
From America’s scrap
In the middle of nowhere,
A travelers trap
There’s a tow truck there
To hook you up
To bring you to the doors of the old town pump.
Gas was a nickel a gallon
For regular fuel
None of that premium
Premium’s, for fools.
At the edge of the road with no white line
Two riders found nowhere
Just in time.
Nowhere and somewhere is where you will be
If you ride with the wind
Life is almost free.
The middle of nowhere is just up the road
Its waiting for you and your dream
Let the wind brush through your hair
You can always describe where you’ve been.
To the middle of nowhere and half way back
Cause Nowhere is more than a dream.
Fred Steele © 08/01/2015
Road Scribes Of America™ 2012