home is where it's hardest

you fell asleep in the passenger seat
of my car as we drove back from Georgia,
as the headlights from oncoming traffic
illuminated the creases on your face

it was a long night in Atlanta
and an even longer one on the road,
and all i had for company was
the sound of you breathing real slow

as the morning fog rest upon the ground
and the streetlights above flickered,
you woke up from your slumber
and asked me where we were

"my dear, my dear, don't get ahead of yourself,
we've still got a long way to go.
the gas tank is empty, we're lost and confused
so we need to take it really slow.
we passed by Providence and Promise
and we're still headed down 95,
home is where it's hardest
so why do we need to rush?"