A midnight highway, a glovebox Bible, and a man discovering that miles do not erase the past.
A midnight highway, a glovebox Bible, and a man discovering that miles do not erase the past.
There's a Bible in the glovebox, And a past I can't outrun. Another town behind me, Another night begun.
Headlights cut through Carolina rain, White lines disappear beneath my wheels. I've spent half my life outrunnin' pain, The other half pretendin' I don't feel. Mama said, ‘Son, every road comes home,’ Daddy said, ‘A man pays what he owes.’ I've been collectin' miles and broken bones, Still don't know which way forgiveness goes.
These wheels don't judge me, They just roll. And the highway knows What I never told.
This blacktop's my confessional, These headlights know my sins. Every mile I put behind me Brings 'em back again. Lord, I ain't the man I should be, But I ain't the man I've been. Out here where the highway bends, This blacktop's my confessional.
There's a motel glowing up ahead, Vacancy buzzin' blood-red through the rain. Another room, another empty bed, Another night remembering her name. Got her picture folded in my coat, Corners worn from years inside my hand. I wrote a hundred letters that I burned, Some things sorry just don't understand.
Maybe redemption ain't a church, Maybe grace ain't dressed in white. Maybe it's admitting you were wrong When nobody's there at night. Maybe home ain't where you started. Maybe home is where you turn. Some men learn from being forgiven. Some of us forgive ourselves The hard way first.
This blacktop's my confessional, These headlights know my sins. Every mile I put behind me Brings 'em back again. Lord, I ain't the man I should be, But I ain't the man I've been. If there's mercy past the county line, I'll find it 'round the bend. This blacktop's my confessional, And tonight I'm listening.
There's a Bible in the glovebox, And sunrise up ahead. For the first time in a long time... I ain't running from myself.