I bought the paper yesterday and I saw the obituary And I read of how you died in pain - Well I just couldn't understand it If I could of changed that, then lord knows I'd do it now But there is no going back - And what's done is done forever
But you were always chained and shackled by the dirt - Of every small town institution and every big town flirt
And I think of what you might have been, A man of such great promise Oh but, you seem to forget the dream - And the more you saw you hated
But let's not talk of blame, for what is only natural Like a moth going to a flame - You had a dangerous passion
But you were always chained and shackled by the dirt - Of every small town institution and every big town flirt
All the things that you might have been - but who am I to say? Still I wonder - If it's the cold earth you prefer to lay - If it's the cold earth - you prefer to stay
Printer Friendly Version
