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Three o'clock, thismorning, |
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I woke up in a dream. |
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Thought I heard a flathead motor roar, |
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I thought |
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I smelled gasoline. |
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A feeling came upon me, that |
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I ain't had in years. |
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Something like a hot dry wind, whistling past my ears. |
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Saying "time, time, time is all you got". |
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There's a memory that's still burning, way down in my mind. |
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And that's why, |
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I'm going out and trying, a flathead one more time. |
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I ain't seen my racing buddies in thirty years, or more. |
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One by one |
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I lost them, out on the dry leaf floor. |
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We learnt to push those flathead cars as hard as they could go. |
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Just like old |
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Whiskey Bob, down on |
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Thunder Road. |
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I hear their voices calling, just accross the finish line. |
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And that's why, |
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I'm going out and trying, a flathead one more time. |
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I'll get back to you baby, don't you have no fear.' |
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Cos I been there, and |
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I wrecked that, and baby |
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I'm still here. |
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But I can't take you with me, when |
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I cross the finish line. |
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And that's why, |
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I'm going out and trying, a flathead, one, more, time. |
