Standard (EADGBE)

 No regrets Coyote, we just come from such different sets of circumstance

 I'm up all night in the studio while you're up early on your ranch

 You'll be brushing out a brood mare's tail while the sun is ascending

 And I'll just be getting home with my reel to reel, there's no comprehending

 Just how close to the bone and the skin and the eyes and the lips

 You can get and still feel so alone, and still feel related

 Like stations in some relay, you're not a

 Hit and run driver no, no, racing away

 You just picked up a hitcher, a prisoner of the white lines on the freeway

We saw a farmhouse burning down, in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night

And we rolled right past that tragedy, till we rolled into some roadhouse lights

Where a local band was playin', locals were kickin' and shakin' on the floor

The next thing I know that Coyote's at my door

He pins me in the corner and he won't take "No!"

He drags me out on the dance floor and we're dancin' close and slow

Now he's got a woman at home, he's got another woman down the hall

And he seems to want me anyway

Why'd you have to get so drunk and lead me on that way

You just picked up a hitcher, a prisoner of the white lines on the freeway

I looked the Coyote right in the face on the road to Baljennie near my old home town

He went runnin' through the whisker wheat, chasin' some prize down

And a hawk was playin with him, Coyote was jumpin' straight up and makin' passes

He had those same eyes just like yours under your dark glasses

Privately probing the public rooms, peeking through keyholes in numbered doors

Where the players lick their wounds and take their temporary lovers

And their pills and powders to get them through this passion play

No regrets Coyote, I just get off up aways

You just picked up a hitcher, a prisoner of the white lines on the freeway

Coyote's in the coffee shop, he's staring a hole in his scrambled eggs

He picks up my scent on his fingers while he's watching the waitresses legs

He's too far from the Bay of Fundy, Appaloosas and eagles and tides

And the air conditioned cubicles and the carbon ribbon rides

Are spelling it out so clear

Either he's gonna have to stand and fight or take off out of here

I tried to run away myself, to run away and wrestle with my ego

And with this flame, you put here in this Eskimo

In this hitcher, in this prisoner, of the fine white lines

Of the white lines on the free, free way

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