Well he'd been hearing too many voices and feelin'a little off-rack. Like there was something big pressing down on his back. So he called up his friends and they said come on out west. It's a place where a man can really feel his succes. So he pulled his heart and soul down off the shelf. Packed them next to the faith that he'd lost in himself. Said his good-byes and when the dirty work was done. He turned his wheels into the fading sun. For seven days and nights like a black-top bird he sped. Maintained radio silence 'cept for in his head. And just like his folks did back in '69. He crossed the border at Needles and heard the promised land on the line. Now where the Transcontinental dumps into the sea. There's a bar made up to look like 1963. Girl in the corner eyed him like a hungry dog a bone. As he brushed the desert dust off that Mercedes chrome. Bartender said "Hey how's it hangin' tiger?". He had a shot of tequila smiled and whispered "lighter". He went down to the desert city where the rattlesnakes play. And left his dead skin by the roadside in the noon of day. Sun got so hot it almost felt like friend. It could burn out every trace of where you been. There was a woman he'd met in a desert song. A little while later a son come along. Looked at that boy's smile and called it home. And that night as he lay in bed the only voice he heard was his own