This Highway's for You

This is my thumb.
It can stop cars.

I used to stand on the shoulder
and squint in the sun,
each unstopping truck
spitting rocks in my face.
That was my spot. Now it's for you.

A few simple rules --
you don't bring a knife so you don't bring a fight,
and when kooks pick you up, let them talk about Christ.
His blood, His body, His wounds.
Lost souls forgiven are driven.

These are the woods where you go when you're lost.
After headlights and headlights and headlights go by,
you walk through the ditch and you hop past the fence.
You can kick off your shoes on this cold bed of twigs.
Sleep in this neck of the woods. Sleep on this lip of the creek.

It's hot and it's clean when you live in your guts.
Taste pride in your guts. You're brave in your guts.
Feel the air in your lungs and the blood in your veins.
Hear that animal snapping the branches.
Smell that fresh dirt in the air.

Live in your guts and don't ever get soft.
These are the hills like warm thighs.
This is the wide open sky,
where the government can't find you and nobody knows your name.
This is your thumb. Look at your thumb.

Back by the road in the morning
some pretty girl's gonna pick you up
and tell you about transubstantiation.
This highway's for you. It'll always be here.
This is for you. This is your thumb.