Stood alone on a mountain top, starin’ out at the Great Divide. I could go east, I could go west, it was all up to me to decide. Just then I saw a young hawk flyin’ and my soul began to rise.
I write a lot of songs people don’t hear. I really just enjoy the process. I finish ’em all. I don’t think there’s a whole lot of difference between the bad ones and the good ones.
Out past the cornfields where the woods got heavy, out in the back seat of my ’60 Chevy. Workin’ on mysteries without any clues, workin’ on our night moves.
