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Somewhere in the back bar by the side of a motorway |
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Someone takes a breath and takes the stage, then starts to play |
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In the back of a thousand bars and by the side of a thousand roads |
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Worn wood, rusted bronze and honest toil explode. |
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They cast long shadows in the evening sun |
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But when the morning comes they've moved along |
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They cast long shadows in the evening sun |
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But when the morning comes they've moved along |
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Hey hey Mr. |
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Dylan I have written you a song |
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About the river of new singers that still rolls along. |
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So here's to |
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Ragan, here's to |
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Marwood, Here's to |
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Tim and Jonah too |
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Here's to the ones who have to take the stage and sing the truth. |
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They cast long shadows in the evening sun |
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But when the morning comes they've moved along |
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They cast long shadows in the evening sun |
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But when the morning comes they've moved along |
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Sing till you sweat for the spirit of the age, |
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Sing life to lines that are dead on the page, |
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Sing for your sorrow, your wisdom, your rage, sing out. |
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Sing for the records you played till they broke, |
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For the parts where you insisted that nobody spoke |
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Sing for the words that you know but they still make you choke |
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Sing out. |
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Cast a long shadows in the evening sun |
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And when the morning comes, pass it along |
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Cast a long shadows in the evening sun |
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But when the morning comes, pass it along |
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Cast a long shadows in the evening sun |
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And when the morning comes, pass it along |
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Cast a long shadows in the evening sun |
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And when the morning comes, pass it along |
