Traveling salesman, the road was his love as he   Carved a path through all the struggle and the strife of this   great big nation falling to its knees   oh lord, please   give us the strength      The World Book was his trade but paint was his tool   A Chrystler his engine but the Good Book his fuel   Concrete his canvas, his message was simple   And at the start of everyday he would pray:      Lord, I'm only just one man   Lord, I've only got two hands   Lord, I'll do the best I can      San Diego to Boston and all points between   From Brownsville, Texas up to Canada in the spring   From the Great Smoky Mountains to the Bitteroot Range   It's all the same   Some'd say he's a messenger and some would say a sage   Some would say a vandal but I guess it's hard to guage   Travel any highway in this land and you can probably catch his track   But you won't ever catch him in the act      Lord, I'm only just one man   Lord, I've only got two hands   Lord, I'll do the best I can      Now one day this world is gonna curl up and burst   It's gonna choke on it's own tongue and die of it's own thirst   Until that day comes our roads will always be long   But he's left signposts to guide us along   On overpass columns from Mexico to Maine   The color may vary but the message doesn't change   He knows he's not judged by his works, he does it just the same   And at the start of every day he would pray:      Lord, I'm only just one man   Lord, I've only got two hands   Lord, I'll do the best I can   Lord, help me help them to understand