Fools wind blowing up brown bible verses. Dust storm of memory. Truck stop rever ie. 3 AM in my home town, not a soul stirring around. Mr. Trucker Man, don't slo w down in this little town. 'Cause I'm traveling faster than the speed of regret . What I was born knowing I was bound to forget. In the blindness of being, what I was born seeing I was just plain bound to forget. Yes, I was just plain bound to forget. Now my tank run dry two hours out of Tucson by three little crosses on the side of the highway. Still as a box full of busted watches, I settle debt s with the dead and keep right on...I keep on keeping on. Pedal to the metal on the wide open highway. Criss-cross the high plains of bright-eyed solitude, I ta ilgate a truck-load of tabula rasa...'til my mind go clearer than the highway we st of El Paso. Guess I'm traveling faster than the speed of regret. What I was b orn knowing I was bound to forget. In the blindness of being what I was born see ing, I was just plain bound to forget. Yes I was just plain bound to forget. Now , 24/7 in the end my friend, gotta go at God's speed, no never relent, lest the soul-sucking, sneaky-deaky, belly-aching past like a ssssnake in the grassssssss s ssssstrike and bury your assssssss. So keep your eyes on the prize on the dist ant horizon. Be wary of the wind and the bad moon rising. Knowing in your going, somehow, some way, that you'll out-run your shadow...yes you will, one fine day . 'Cause you're traveling faster than the speed of regret. What I was born knowi ng I was bound to forget. In the blindness of being what I was born seeing I was just plain bound to forget, yes I was just plain bound to forget.
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