I followed down the dust
and trails that lead to nowhere;
and made it, never once
lookin' at my feet.

At some points from this bein'
on the wrong side of the road
but not for walkin',
my thumb became the hammer;

and each time a car would pass
as surely as it'd come,
I'd take my fingers, make a gun, and put to my head;
but know, I really pulled the trigger.

My soul would fall
bleedin' and grabbin' for my heels.
I'd leave it
in hope
to never grow a-new.

And I'd watch the rouge on the setting Sun,
like she was just a woman,
another who was leavin me,
who cared how she walked as she left.