All the local boys,
well they're all dressed up like there ain’t nowhere or way to fly,
even if they thought they could.
And they come home to dread workhorses,
runnin’ time under full moon soul.

And their little girls can’t say nothin’ except,
“Oh, why is everything I do happening to me?”
Time is all…moving awful slow,
and not a damn one of them knows which way the motion’s moving.

All the men round town,
they stopped getting ready years and years ago,
‘cause they know there’s nowhere or way to fly, even if they thought could.
And they too come home to dread workhorses,
runnin’ time under full moon soul

And out in outer space,
he looks down askin’
‘Oh, why is everything I do happening to me?’
While his best friend just sits and drinks his hops and watches the day time blur.
And he ain’t never dressed up‘cause he knows there’s nowhere or way to fly,
even if he thought he could.
And at last, he comes home to dread workhorses,
runnin’ time under full moon soul.