A county and a world from here,
an hour on the highway,
a barren, level plot of land
marks where we used to stay.
Though close enough to share the rain,
when skies are turned to gray,
I've found that home to ever be
a million miles away.

The echoes of much simpler times
could ever lead the way,
to look upon that gravel road,
where I learned to work and play,
back before the hands of God
pulled you out of the fray,
and set you on some golden street
a million miles away.

I used to visit all the time,
the place where you now lay,
with roses and whatever words
I felt the need to say.
But chiseled marble memories
are not the ones that stay;
the you I miss is ever more
a million miles away.

If fate shall see the faithless sort
like me to judgment day,
forgive my selfish doubt and bile
and beckon me to stay,
I'll seek your precious company,
I'll have so much to say;
wait for me, and I'll find you there
a million miles away.

But life has seen me shun such hope,
forgetting how to pray.
I wear an air of certain doubt
I can't help but display.
Blessings come, and blessings go,
so very few will stay.
And most, once lost, will ever seem
a million miles away.