I was born in the country and raised in the town
I spent every Sunday wandering around
I raised lots of cane till my momma would cry
She prayed my harvest would wither and die
Wither and die, Lord, wither and die

These slow-going highways a
And red-running river I choose
The song of a siren
The rhythm of nothing to lose
Every step off the front porch is
A step into rocking chair blues

I went down to Oxford to find me some blues
I measure my mouse by the holes in my shoe
And I listen for autumn and followed the sound
And left off the things that fell to the ground
Fell to the ground, Lord, fell to the ground

These slow-going highways
And red-running river I choose
The song of a siren
The rhythm of nothing to lose
Every step off the front porch is
A step into rocking chair blues

If I wandered away, would you call me back?
'Cause I'm already gone
I'm drifting astray and humming the highway song

I was born in the country and raised in the town
I spent every Sunday wandering around
Wandering around, Lord, wandering around