Jared Grabb Ryan To Kennedy lyrics

Sweat from his brow runs to his eyes. The salt burns at mid‐day in mid July. Shoulder to his eyes and clutching a traffic sign. Orange vest and tarred hands beneath the harsh sunlight. You speed by. You don't slow for this guy. Speed on by. Just another day working the Dan Ryan. Working the Kennedy. Working on the highway and singing Springsteen. And, the rain falls down from a Sunday morning sky. Everything's gray and cold as she takes the Metra line far up north from Chicago to the toll booth where she spends her time. Where you speed by her four feet at the head of the line of constant passerbys. Providing for the family. And come January, there's a fresh snowfall. Black boots crunch white drifts below tan slacks and a holstered hip. First patrolman on the scene of an accident. Black smoke against white sky. Like a boulder placed midstream displacing the current. Slumped figure in the driver's side. And you coast on by. You crane your neck to see the other guy. Lights flashing.