It seems that somehow you've been told that I'm walking on down the road.
You're not quite sure just why or when the road is coming around again
So you want to bid me goodbye 'til the summer
You're awful sure it won't come that soon

It's been sung and it's been sought that the road is something that it's not.
I can tell you where water can be found.
I can tell you where there's love in the ground.
I've walked the pathways and seen the signs
And I know what to do about painted lines
And the road goes on and on.

Tired old farmhand, kicked about, he's heading home, without a doubt.
Lazy Sunday, feeling fine, he walks on down to the railroad line,
Whistles, and a boxcar comes for him.
Just how that was, he never would admit.

And Dancing Tom you knew before, there he is fishing on the canyon floor.
He picks a banjo, spins a wheel, his head is humming with an ancient reel
That no one knows how to play anymore.
He's carrying a book and grinning a grin
And there's a figure sauntering down the canyon towards him.

It's been whispered, it's been told that the water's been covering that Utah road.
I can tell you where a card game can be found.
I can tell you where there's truth in the ground.
I've walked the pathways and seen the signs
And I know what to do about painted lines
And the road goes on and on.

The crowds are outside making noise, shaking up your careful poise.
Imagine a spot out in the trees, the soil full of colonies
And every stone imparting something sad.
The breeze kicks up and your name is writ in the dust.

There'll come a day when you will see what the forest said to me.
Told in silence, known in sleep,
The rim lines of the canyons reaping visions from the grasses below
And there's a car that's snaking down the hill right now
Carrying a drowsy girl who dreams of walking.

It's been soaked and it's been burned, the storefront crumbles, the pages turn.
I can tell you where an old friend can be found.
I can tell you where there's hope in the ground.
I've walked the pathways and seen the signs
And I know what to do about painted lines
And the road goes on and on.

It seems that somehow you've been told that I'm walking on down the road.
You're not quite sure just why or when the road is coming around again
So you want to bid me goodbye 'til the springtime.
The winter isn't all that long, you know.

It's been sung and it's been sought that the road is something that it's not.
I can tell you where water can be found.
I can tell you where there's love in the ground.
I've walked the pathways and seen the signs
And I know what to do about painted lines
And the road goes on and on.

I can't see the end of it.