There is no road,
though Frost told us so
and it is cold tonight and
I have no place to go.

Home is but a ride away,
cigarette’s are in the ashtray, dried,
and I do not smoke them each day
not since my last try.

My bed is clean; white and tidy,
that’s the third time since Friday, I’ve planned
ahead this week but not taken it lightly,
they’ve left me lonesome and unmanned.