Usually take one last pass through town. Stop the car and touch the ground. Watch those streetlights. Swayin' in the breeze. . Decorated store fronts.
I know what you think, here we go again. The same waste of potential that I've always been. I've been given the chances and I've burned some bridges up.
Seger was singing words I could believe in. And "Main Street" was my street that night. So I called up Samantha and asked her the. Chance of us. Running out 'neaththe moonlight.
All gathered 'round in our Sunday best. After the service on them old church steps. Congregation spilling into the streets. Ain't it funny how the preacher's words.
Waking up in the sand. Sunburn on your nose. You scream and squeezed my hand. When your East Kentucky toes hit the Atlantic. Summertime in Brooklyn. Mustard on your lip.
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There must be a reason for raindrops to fall.. There must be a reason why mountains are tall.. And why are the stars in the sky?. There must be a reason why..
It was Tiger Wilson versus Kid McCoy. In the summer of ninety-three. Now the Kid was everybody's pride and joy. Just as game as a kid could be. . And his darlin' Bess was in the second row.
To spend one night with you. In our old rendezvous. And reminisce with you. That's my desire. . To meet where gypsies play. Down in that Dim Cafe. And dance till break of day.
Hold on until the feelin' is so strong. Until the ground that you walk on. Is where you stand.. This dream, it heals and it haunts me. It's tempted and taught me who I am.
On top of the stairs. Looking down. I see the faces. Right beside me. Said don't you worry. Don't be scared. But it's a long way down those stairs. . It looks a long way down.
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Well i used to wake the mornin. Befor the rooster crowed. Searchin for soda bottles to get my self some dough. Brought em down to the corner. Down to the country store.
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Use every crayon, color that you've got. A fishing pole sinks faster than a tackle box. Nothing turns a day around like licking a mixing bowl. I learned that from a three year old.
She was pacing back and forth on her front porch. I pulled up slinging gravel in my Daddy's Ford. She cried all the way to Johnson's store. I kept the motor running and parked by the door.
I remember waitin' by the curb with Mr. Murphy. When daddy picked me up from school his eyes were red. We drove to the hospital in a hurry. Where my family gathered 'round my grandpa's bed.
They're the in crowd, we're the other ones. It's a different kind of cloth that we're cut from. We let our colors show, where the numbers ain't. With the paint where there ain't supposed to be paint.
(One, two, three). . These boots have counted off a many of band. Playin' one night roadhouse stands. For tips an' empty rooms. These boots have stood toe-to-toe.