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Cigarettes are burning down to my fingers |
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in my motel, where the smell still lingers |
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from the night before... |
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with a ten dollar whore who didn't even know my name |
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the TV says nothing, nothing to me |
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and i feel so low in the highest degree |
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like a tree with no root, like a gun that don't shoot |
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like a dog outside on a chain |
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and theres no use for me to sit here an moan |
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many a man has been more alone |
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and i might feel better if i write a letter |
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if i write a letter home |
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yeah i heard the news bout' that ol gang of mine |
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they're all getting married, they're all doing fine |
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they're all getting older, and needin' a shoulder |
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that's easy to lean on... |
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but as for me, i'm half way to Denver |
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how long has it been? I just can't remember |
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it all starts to fade, cause' the life that i've made |
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is the life that i dream on... |
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and there's no use for me to sit here and moan |
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many a man has been more alone |
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and i might feel better if i write a letter |
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if i write a letter home |
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now i can't help but to be who i am |
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though i've let many women slip from my hands; |
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i've let them all go, why? i don't know, |
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it just made me feel like a man |
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but what i know now, though it may be too late |
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you've got to love someone and let go the weight |
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you've got to make do when you find love that's true |
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this now i understand... |
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and theres no use for me to sit here and moan |
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many a man has been more alone |
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but i might feel better if i write a letter |
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if i write a letter home |
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if i write a letter home |
