highway 63 from oil sands by wildmen

Well, there's three hundred clicks of asphalt south of Fort Mcmurray. Devil's on that highway, shift change Monday, shift change Thursday. House-sized coker ovens, single lanes of double-wides, we pass on the soft shoulders, we pass on double lines. And so I grind my teeth and my bumper sticker reads "Pray for me. I drive Highway 63."

Starts at Amber Valley. Suicide 63. I've lost some good friends there. Someday soon that might be me. But I ain't got no deathwish. No sir. I've got kids to feed. Just get me home to Edmonton to see my family. Screams out from the headlines, from the obituaries: Pray for me. I drive Highway 63.

And in my rear-view mirror, the devil's gettin' nearer. If I don't stay ahead, I'm sure I'll end up dead. After 21 days, he's itchin' for beer, pussy and cocaine, and we're all in his way - the lost souls of this place. Nights in camp, I can't sleep, 'cause these thoughts keep on haunting me: my truck turned on its roof. Tailing pond swimming pools. Wife with another man, one of these days my kids'll call him dad and we're all on this road, but I know where it goes.

"Pray for me. I drive Highway 63."

I ain't gonna end up just another roadside shrine. A hardhat on a cross. A vodka bottle on its side. I ain't got no death wish but I ain't go no degree and no stuffed shirt or union hall is looking out for me. So 'til I figure this one out, before my kids go to sleep, tell them to pray for me, while I drive Highway 63.

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