I Guess I Lost My Way, There

To A Brighter Light, To A Promised Land, You Can Feel The Power, Of The Master's Hand.

Out Past The Cornfields Where The Woods Got Heavy, Out In The Back Seat Of My '60 Chevy. Workin' On Mysteries Without Any Clues, Workin' On Our Night Moves.

One Victim Lives In Tragedy, Another Victim Stops To Stare, And Still Another Walks On By Pretending Not To See

It Was 22 Years Of Work In A Row, Right Up Until 1987. Twenty-two Years In A Row-either On Tour, Writing An Album, Or Recording An Album. It Wasn't Until 1987 That I Was Able To Take A Breath.

I'm Not A Number. Dammit, I'm A Man.