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| Three o'clock, thismorning, I woke up in a dream. Thought I heard a flathead motor roar, I thought I smelled gasoline. A feeling came upon me, that I ain't had in years. Something like a hot dry wind, whistling past my ears. Saying "time, time, time is all you got". There's a memory that's still burning, way down in my mind. And that's why, I'm going out and trying, a flathead one more time. I ain't seen my racing buddies in thirty years, or more. One by one I lost them, out on the dry leaf floor. We learnt to push those flathead cars as hard as they could go. Just like old Whiskey Bob, down on Thunder Road. I hear their voices calling, just accross the finish line. And that's why, I'm going out and trying, a flathead one more time. I'll get back to you baby, don't you have no fear. 'Cos I been there, and I wrecked that, and baby I'm still here. But I can't take you with me, when I cross the finish line. And that's why, I'm going out and trying, a flathead, one, more, time. Time, time, time is all you got. |
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