Almost November, but the train left town a long time ago.

There must be something better than this tired beat down old rodeo.

Waiting on the winter, but the cold came a long time ago.

I can't be reliving young mistakes while I grow old.


Almost November, rails stretching much further than I can go.

I can feel the change in weather, but can't beat that smoking iron horse home.

Cold heart of this old sinner, leaning forward, shoulders low.

Given up on believing, past behind me, story told.


It'll soon be December, our hearts will grow colder.

Guess I'll keep this old jacket, and the bag on my shoulder.

Grow my hair long again, for when the cold wind starts blowing.

And it's you I'll be thinking of when the grey clouds start snowing.

r  Oct 2013