| Mileage has taken its toll
|
| Paid it with lines to show
|
| You’ve had your fill of asphalt
|
| Cough tremors and smoke-filled doors
|
| Look like the habit controls you
|
| You look like you need a rest
|
| You’ve made it to the timber-line
|
| Don’t know what to expect
|
| God knows you don’t need it
|
| Too early, you might be the one
|
| Find yourself somewhere else
|
| Too early in the sun
|
| Song strains, distant, over
|
| A barroom drink-filled roar
|
| The old folk singer lays it down
|
| Not for long, no longer ignored
|
| Spinning tales of temptation
|
| Gambling days lost and won
|
| No crimes committed here
|
| Too much habit could be the one
|
| God knows, you don’t need it
|
| Too early, you might be the one
|
| To find yourself somewhere else
|
| Too early in the sun
|
| Never seen half of what you’ve seen
|
| Real life never quite adds up
|
| The road goes on when the faces don’t
|
| Word of mouth never tells the truth
|
| Like to hear your story told
|
| With a two-step beat and rhyme
|
| Could be Tennessee or Texas
|
| On and on that road winds
|
| God knows you don’t need it
|
| Too early, you might be the one
|
| To find yourself somewhere else
|
| Too early in the sun |