She wipes the counter at five a.m.
Coffee's hot but the tips are thin
Walks the treeline when her shift is done
Watches taillights chase the sun
She stands where the telephone wires cross pines
Counting the miles on the yellow center lines
Her apron's stained with coffee and time
She knows every hand that don't leave a dime
Rain slick poles creak in the gusting wind
She pulls her collar tight to her chin
Fifteen years she's watched the meter drop
Never asked a ride to stop
She stands where the telephone wires cross pines
Counting the miles on the yellow center lines
Her apron's stained with coffee and time
She knows every hand that don't leave a dime
Old Pete died in the cab last fall
Heart gave out at the county mall
She drove his route for three weeks straight
Kept the change, kept the plate
She stands where the telephone wires cross pines
Counting the miles on the yellow center lines
Her apron's stained with coffee and time
She knows every hand that don't leave a dime
The pines don't care for bills or rent
The poles don't know where the money went
But she knows the sound of a good tip's ring
And the quiet hurt of a broken spring
Tonight a semi blows its horn
She doesn't flinch, just waits for morn
The meter's cold but the engine's warm
She'll drive the dawn through the pine tree storm
She stands where the telephone wires cross pines
Counting the miles on the yellow center lines
Her apron's stained with coffee and time
She knows every hand that don't leave a dime
But tonight she climbs in, leaves the pines behind
Engine idles low at the treeline
Meter's running, she's finally mine
Pine scent thinning in the rearview glass
First fare paid in a tank of gas
