i start missing you days before you leave i guess its a kind of sensory memory deep below the conscious mind you i can be on my own im an only child i like my company potter round make another pot of tea for two is when you come home we sit and eat breakfast eggs with soldier toast buttered well so you get the edges of the things we never say distance has a funny way of slowly making you someone that i dont know people ask me why i dont go on the road with you i tell them heres a day in the life of a touring muso early morning flight press all day city through a window air conditioned room with a view late night early morning light creeps through the blinds and the cat hungry for her breakfast routine keeps me sane im not made for the lonesome highway i guess im never gonna be the joy to your slim dusty but you know im always here when you get home i start missing you days before you leave i guess its a kind of sensory memory deep below the conscious