Voice: It was winter time in Nashville, down on music city row

and I was looking for a place to get myself out of the cold, to warm

the frozen feeling that was eating at my soul, and keep the chilly

wind off my guitar; my thirsty wanted whiskey, my hungry needed

beans; but it'd been a month of pay days since I'd heard that eagle

scream; so with a stomach full of empty and pocket full of dreams

I left my pride and stepped inside a bar (actually I guess you'd

call it a tavern). Cigarette smoke to the ceiling and sawdust on the

floor. Friendly shadows. I saw that there was just one old man sitting

at

the bar; and in the mirror I could see him checking me with my

guitar; he turned and said "come up here boy and show us what you

are". I said "I'm dry" and he bought me a beer. He nodded at my

guitar and said "It's a tough life ain't it?" I just looked at him

and he said "You ain't making any money, are you?" I said "You've

been reading my mail". He just smiled and said "Let me see that

guitar: I got something you ought to hear". Then he laid

it on me.....]



If you waste your time a-talking to the people who don't listen

to the things that you are saying who do you think's going to hear?

And if you should die explaining how the things that they complain about

are things they could be changing, who d'you think's goin' to care?



There were other lonely singers in a world turned deaf and blind who

were

crucified for what they tried to show,

And their voices have been scattered by the swirling winds of time,

'cause the truth remains that no-one wants to know!



[Voice: Well, the old man was a stranger, but I'd heard his song before;

back when failure had me locked out on the wrong side of the door; when

no-one stood behind me but my shadow on the floor and lonesome was more

than a state of mind. You see, the devil haunts a hungry man; if you

don't want to join him you've got to beat him. I ain't sayin' I beat the

devil, but I drank his beer for nothing, and then I stole his song!]



And you still can hear me singing to the people who don't listen

to the things that I am saying, praying someone's going to hear;

And I guess I'll die explaining how the things that they complain about

are things they could be changing, hoping someone's goin' to care.



I was born a lonely singer and I'm bound to die the same

But I've got to feed the hunger in my soul;

And if I never have a nickel I won't ever die of shame

'cause I don't believe that no-one wants to know