There's a string of lonely telephone wires stretchin' for a hundred miles or so.
A hawk in a tree, looking down at me, he says that It's time to go.
And each little town that I'd pass through, fighting my way back home,
reminded me of what the cookie read, "Don't let your dreams turn to stone"

Now the waitress has a smile like she's from heaven, but it touches a devil in my soul.
There ain't nothin' you can do at thirty-seven, but keep singin' and hope you never grow old.
Time is a lie; you're here 'till you die. All you own is only on loan.
What else is there to do, but to get yourself through, and don't let your dreams turn to stone.

And if the errors of the past are all that you see when you close your eyes at night,
then hopeless and empty will another day be when you open your eyes come daylight.
And if you look around, and contentment is found amid the seeds you have sown,
then soon you'll find that come harvest time.......... your dreams have turned to stone.

Well, I'm followin' my heart down this long highway,  of gettin' off; I don't stand a chance.
Even if you don't want to face the music, you still gotta learn to dance.
My heart has the power. My soul has the wheel. It's takin' this body back home.
There's a sign up ahead and the words that it read were,  don't let your dreams turn to stone.

*Keokuk, IA   1986