i learned a phrase as a boy -- Sunday driver --  which describes those
inconveniently slow drivers who take up perfectly good roadway to go
nowhere in particular at low speed. This song, about one such driver,
began on a small two lane road when i was stuck behind what looked to be
a teenaged boy sitting next to his girlfriend.

Sunday Driver

his left elbow is out the window,
his left fingers steer the wheel,
his right arm is around his sweetheart,
and it's paradise inside that big mobile,
'cause he's a sunday driver

and i'm stuck here right behind him,
held hostage by the double yellow line,
the sign says 55, he's going 30,
and it's clear that he don't care who is behind,
'cause he's a Sunday driver

he is moving slowly, to guarantee the magic doesn't end too soon,
he's a sunday driver, in the middle of my thursday afternoon,

but i will not hit my headlights,
i will not honk my horn,
i know too well just what he's feeling,
i've been in that sweet driver's seat before,
i've been a Sunday driver

i am sure that what i witness is a boy who is in love,
and i dare not interrupt his pleasant dream,

there's a growing line of angry cars behind us,
it's like a centipede of metal, single file,
but i will not let them interrupt his romance,
i'm gonna' be his guardian angel for awhile.

he is moving slowly, to guarantee the magic doesn't end too soon,
he's a sunday driver, in the middle of my thursday afternoon.

(12 string guitar - Sam Ruffner)

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