I can't hide it,
So good to be here.
Lost in transit,
Out on a free year.
There's no truth,
Eyeing me sideways.
Just a telephone booth,
On a highway.
I ain't hiding,
There's been no breakdown.
Where I'm aiming,
I see the sundown.
One horizon,
Eyeing me sideways.
Just a telephone booth,
On a highway.
Everything for miles,
Is high on the silence.
Everything's my way.
Where I'm calling,
There's no religion.
No-one falling,
My absolution.
Is all truth,
Eyeing me sideways.
In a telephone booth,
On a highway.
I stand ready,
For any new direction.
That the sun may lead me down.
Everything for miles,
Is high on the silence.
Everything's my way.
In a telephone booth,
On a highway.
Writer(s): Stephen Donald Cummings, Ross Andrew Wilson
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