. There never was a night so long When time went crawling by. The Arctic wind came howling in Across the Nashville sky. The planes had all been grounded With no tickets left to ride. It was wheels out on the highway On the night Hank Williams died. The radio played Country At the dark end of the day. To Canton they were rolling As the old year slipped away. The pain was ever harder As he sat alone and cried. With the hourglass nearly empty On the night Hank Williams died. Then somewhere in the distance You could hear the lonesome whine Of a freight train out of Knoxville With the Moon across the pines. The distant crowd were gathered At the stroke of Eventide, But their hero had departed On the night Hank Williams died. So, float me on a Pirogue To the Bayou of my dreams. I’ll feast on Filé Gumbo, Though I don’t know what it means To wind up in a Cadillac, no loved one by your side, The victim of a cheating heart, The night Hank Williams died. . . Jeff Eardley lives in the heart of England near to the Peak District National Park and is a local musician playing guitar, mandolin and piano steeped in the music of America, including the likes of Ry Cooder, Paul Simon, and particularly Hank Williams.