I carry what I own in a rucksack lightly on my back,
the lowdown is the showdown came, the sheriff even knew my name an APB was out on me I had to flee, get out of town, but I know the feds will hunt me down.

I don't have much, no time as such or anything of value that I value more than life,
I took a life and now they want mine and
no time is good time when you're strung out on the front line, when the line is attached to the 'final solution', twenty five thousand volts of electrocution.

So I run and I hide where the night's on my side and the days are the things that I fear and which I own, where the faults are at home with me and home is wherever I am with an eye out for the marshalls man.

I carry it anyway in a rucksack for another day and the CIA are closing in on me,
time to pack my bag and flee
again.