Well, I’ve come pretty far,
From punk rock guitars,
From Mosquito Lagoon,
And Matanzas sand bars.
And I’m running from a name,
That a lifetime will bring,
‘Tween the waxing and the wane,
I’ll be trying to beat a train,
Trying to beat a train.
There’s a creek off the St. John’s,
Where the perch bed down to spawn,
I’m daydreaming on a breeze,
Until the minnows were all gone.
Now I’m three blocks off of Main,
But the Hudson ain’t the same,
I’m fighting guilt and facing shame,
And I’m still trying to beat a train,
Trying to beat a train.
Sun through Spanish moss,
Back roads for getting lost,
Sandy feet on Christmas day,
Where livin’ was half the cost.
On a Brooklyn bound A,
Front row on a moving grave,
She’s a thousand miles away,
And I’m still trying to beat a train.
Trying to beat a train.