I realize I never got that far.
I'm living in this empty back street bar.
Oh the reasons and the madness, and the songs reflect the sadness,
of a burnt out soul still chasing down a star.

Once, long ago, I know I heard the call.
I was proud and I was going to show them all.
So I hit the road for freedom, but my songs, they didn't need 'em,
and I'd worked too hard to let them see me crawl.

So I settled for the winter, in a place too far from home,
and I tried to write some new songs every day.
At night I entertained them, for a few short hours I claimed them,
and again I thought I finally found the way.

Back on the road, I'm heading for the sky.
This time I'll make it happen if I try.
But the work of playin' stages, and the days turn into ages,
and too quickly now the years begin to fly.

This life is filled with heartbreak and it's cruel.
You spill your life out on the sheet, rejection is the rule.
For much too long I waited, and the offers quickly faded,
now I know just how it feels to be the fool.

So I've settled for a lifetime in a place that I call home,
and I play each night just like I did before;
'cause the music is my madness, and the songs reflect the sadness,
and the reason doesn't matter any more.

John Fox 11/98

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