I never knew a man could tell so many lies. He had a different story for every set of eyes! How can he remember who he’s talkin’ to? ‘Cause I know it ain’t me, and I hope it isn’t you.

See the sky about to rain, broken clouds and rain.
Locomotive, pull the train, whistle blowing through my brain.
Signals curling on an open plain, rolling down the track again.

Some are bound for happiness, some are bound to glory; some are bound to live with less: who can tell your story?

I remember the good old days: stayed up all night gettin’ crazed. Then the money was not so good, but we still did the best we could.

I hear some people been talkin’ me down: bring up my name, pass it ’round. They don’t mention the happy times; they do their thing, I’ll do mine.

And there ain’t nothin’ like a friend who can tell you you’re just pissin’ in the wind.

So all you critics, sit alone: you’re no better than me for what you’ve shown.

It’s easy to get buried in the past, when you try to make a good thing last.