He was a man once proud, with a name folks knew, Had a job in town and a family too. But life’s cold wind blew hard one day, Took everything he loved clean away. Now he’s standin’ by the tracks with an old patched coat, Thumb on the rail and pain in his throat. So he rides, rides, rides On the steel and the rust and the lonesome nights. With a heart that’s cracked like a dry creek bed, And dreams he buried but ain’t quite dead. Yeah, he rides, rides, rides Till the wheels fall off or the hurt quits inside. Found a boxcar home with the hobos and the lost, Swappin’ stories ’bout the dreams they tossed. A tin cup fire and a harmonica tune, Watchin’ the world drift by under a harvest moon. He don’t say much, just stares at the land, Holdin’ broken pieces in his calloused hands. So he rides, rides, rides On the steel and the rust and the lonesome nights. With a heart that’s cracked like a dry creek bed, And dreams he buried but ain’t quite dead. Yeah, he rides, rides, rides Till the wheels fall off or the hurt quits inside. Sometimes he swears he hears her voice In the whistle wailin’ through the noise. Tells him, “Lay it down, you’ve done your best,” But he keeps movin’—never finds rest. Morning light spills on a small-town sign, He hops off slow, takes his time. Buys a coffee with the coins he’s saved, Nods at the preacher by an old church grave. But he won’t stay long—never can. He’s a ghost on the rails now, less than a man. So he rides, rides, rides On the steel and the rust and the endless nights. ’Cause a heart that’s shattered don’t ever mend— It just follows the tracks around the bend. Yeah, he rides, rides, rides Till the wheels fall off or he finds his peace in the sky.
