Twisted wrecks in the burning sands;
Magnesium flares, iron corrodes,
The blacktop burns on Uranium Road. 
Mercury climbed higher and higher, 
The people ran, breathing in fire;
The rattlesnakes coiled, the condors flew,
A hole in the sky where the sun burned through.

     Sixteen tons, eighteen wheels,
     Halogen lights on chromium steel;
     Cobalt mountains to the desert below,
     Three hundred miles down Uranium Road.

Here's to the men who run that run,
Drive the big rigs, stare down the sun;
Carry the borax pure and refined,
Ice water veins, steel in their eyes.
Carbon arc weld better get you there,
You don't have the parts, you don't have a prayer;
Sunspot surge knocked the radio out, 
No living thing four counties about.

     Sixteen tons, eighteen wheels,
     Halogen lights on chromium steel;
     Cobalt mountains to the desert below,
     Three hundred miles down Uranium Road.

There once was a girl in the truckstop lights,
Waitressing tables each Saturday night;
And the diesels roamed in numberless hordes,
You could hear their cry, you could hear their roar.
Now night comes on broken and still,
Phosphorus gleams on the crest of a hill;
One more hour, signpost ahead,
Dashboard lights all flashing red.

     Sixteen tons, eighteen wheels,
     Halogen lights on chromium steel;
     Cobalt mountains to the desert below,
     Three hundred miles down Uranium Road.

Copyright © Thomas Anderson, Angry Young Grad Student Music