Don't know too much,
But one thing I'm sure of:
A man ain't nothing more than a man.
A lonely rider playing his time out
The best he can, the best he can.
Too many choice, too sweetly tastin'.
Play the cards as they fall.
Next thing you know
A man's purpose gets wasted,
As the wind blows
That's how the tree grows.
No matter where he chooses to travel
A lonely rider wakes every moan
And knows that he must go where he's guided.
His fate was decided
On the day
He wos born.