I bought the paper yesterday and I saw the obituary
And I read of how you died in pain -
Well I just couldn't understand it
Oh if I could've changed that, then Lord knows I'd do it now
Oh but there is no going back -
And what's done is done forever

But you were always chained and, shackled by the dirt -
Of every small town institution and every big town flirt

And I think of what you might have been
A man of such great promise
Oh but you seem to forget the dream -
And the more you saw you hated

Oh but let's not talk of blame, for what is only natural
Like a moth going to a flame -
You had a dangerous passion

But you were always chained and, shackled by the dirt -
Of every small town institution and every big town flirt

All the things that you might have been - but who am I to say?
Still I wonder -
If it's the cold earth you prefer to lay -
If it's the cold earth - you prefer to stay