Coffe and Conversation

I entered an old, worn out diner
on an empty piece of road.
There was no neon to light my way,
no signage on where to go.
I just stepped out of life for a while,
hopin' to unburden my load.

I walked up to the counter
and took the package from my hand.
I propped my guitar against the next stool
and left it there to stand.
Although the scenery seemed so familiar,
I'd never been to this land.

The waitress saw me, poured a cup of coffee,
laid a cheap plastic menu by my cup.
Then she said to me, "Hon, what'll it be?
Somethin' to sip? Somethin' to sup?"
In reply, I started to cry
and told her this without lookin' up.

I've been everywhere.
Yet I still continue to roam.
Never found someone to care
that I could call my own.
I don't need alot from you now,
pretty soon I'll be gone.
Give me some coffee, conversation,
and this care package from home.

Before we knew, the coffee was through
and we knew more about our lives.
What it would mean to be serene
like good husbands and wives.
But through it all, everyone falls
and the pain cuts like a thousand knives.
So you keep makin' the coffee
and I'll keep playin' the dives.

She asked me had I ever opened the package.
I shook my head and said, "Nope."
It's still in its original wrappings
and tied with its original rope.
It's the thought that holds me together,
the idea that allows me to cope.
Like the thought of our lives of husbands and wives,
This package holds all my hope.

'Cause I've travelled everywhere man
and still continue to roam.
Always lookin' for someone to care
that I can call my own.
But I'm never in one place too long.
Turn around and I'll be gone.
For now, I'll stick to the coffee, conversation,
and this old care package from home.
Just give me some coffee, conversation,
and the hope in this package from home.