There is steam rising from the gravel on the road there is black coal filling up our homes it seeps through the window cracks it slips through the floorboards
I've taken a hit or two I've given quite a few I swing my fists and the cities all fall I've broken a law or two reckon I only missed a few I watch these
riverman ferrying my to hell I can't blame them, no, to hate me for what I've done I hear them whisperin' in the hall you'll live and die by the gun
've dodged each conflict and decision that we've met. Everybody tells themselves That they must be justified, They do what they do because they're trying to get by
In the valley the girl waits at the back of the caravan wears a dress made of red wool for a night on the town with her man he is good to her he takes
There's a son he is born with a silver spoon in his mouth go on boy admit it there's got to be something you love enough to protect you tire of things