Fine at the Departures Curb

Smiling at the curb like it's nothing, like it's no pain. I'll wave you through the door and keep my smile dry, Then the sun comes up slow and I start to cry. Sixteen years of late-night fries and bad songs on the radio; who's gonna sing the wrong words now, Who's gonna let me know? You were the first one I told, The last one I call; now it's just the dashboard lights and the morning all at once. Driving back with the window cracked and the sky going gold; I'm fine on the highway,