I start missing you
Days before you leave
I guess it's a kind of sensory memory
Deep below the conscious
Mind you, I can be on my own
I'm an only child
I like my company potter 'round
Make another pot of
Tea for two is when you come home
We sit and eat breakfast
Eggs with soldier toast
Buttered well, so you get the edges
Of the things we never say
Distance has a funny way
Of slowly making you someone that I don't know
People ask me why
I don't go on the road with you
I tell them, here's a day
In the life of a touring muso
Early morning flight
Press all day, city through a window
Air-conditioned room with a view
Late night, early morning
Light creeps through the blinds
And the cat, hungry for her breakfast
Routine keeps me sane
I'm not made for the lonesome highway
Guess I'm never gonna be
The Joy to your Slim Dusty
But you know I'm always here
When you get home
I start missing you
Days before you leave
I guess it's a kind of sensory memory
Deep below the conscious
