[INTRO] [Paper bundle lands on pavement] [Acoustic guitar catches a quick rolling rhythm] Thought I fell off track— turns out I caught the rail. Morning wind behind me, little brother on the trail. [VERSE 1] Telegram-Tribune underneath my arm, Raymond up ahead with that natural charm. Lawyer by eight, barber by nine, right on time, sharp like a dime. Candy-shop window, schoolhouse bell, learned every doorway, learned it well. Wasn’t big enough to choose what I’d do— but I was big enough to carry the news. [CHORUS] Sometimes when you think you fell behind, you’re right there gliding on the working line. Feet keep moving while the years roll through— big enough to carry the news. Right on time, sharp like a dime, making a living one load at a time. I didn’t fall off—I followed it through, till the hands that carried everything couldn’t carry me too. [SHORT GUITAR RESPONSE] [VERSE 2] Gutters and windows, concrete and trees, pipeline dust settling over my knees. Jackhammer talking in a language of stone, furniture climbing where elevators don’t. Rope on the shoulder, dolly on the stair, if somebody needed it—I carried it there. Never called it glory, never called it dues, just another morning and another pair of shoes. [PRE-CHORUS] Every job left something, every mile left proof. A working man grows older— but he never loses truth. [CHORUS] Sometimes when you think you fell behind, you’re right there gliding on the working line. Feet keep moving while the years roll through— big enough to carry the news. Right on time, sharp like a dime, making a living one load at a time. I didn’t fall off—I followed it through, till the hands that carried everything couldn’t carry me too. [BRIDGE] Now those hands wake aching before the daylight comes, but the rhythm they were building still remembers every drum. The route became a lifetime, the labor became a song. I thought my hands had stopped me— they were writing all along. [FINAL CHORUS] Sometimes when you think you fell behind, you’re right there gliding on the working line. Whole life moving in a three-minute view— big enough to carry the news. Right on time, sharp like a dime, I gave every morning the strength that was mine. I never fell off—I followed it through— now the hands that carried everything are carrying the tune. [OUTRO] [Band drops to acoustic guitar and footsteps] Paperboy morning… work-worn hands… Still right there gliding where the story lands. [One newspaper folds; final warm guitar chord]
