| We were drinking and having times down by the ocean,
|
| Thought of running away, but don’t we all?
|
| We had this strange idea we were gonna be famous,
|
| But we were too drunk to drive or make that call.
|
| My amigo,
|
| Well his eyes were dead
|
| But he was still writing down the lines.
|
| He had a quart in his hand,
|
| He said, «I wasn’t made for these times,»
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| Cemetery,
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| And the car in the garage a couple of dirty dogs.
|
| It’s sad, but I felt blessed,
|
| Amongst the dead, we were at our best.
|
| Amigo,
|
| You’re still nineteen,
|
| You’re still hungry,
|
| You’re still young.
|
| You’re still nineteen,
|
| You’re still hungry,
|
| You’re still loved.
|
| You’re only nineteen,
|
| You’re only hungry,
|
| You’re so dumb.
|
| You’re still nineteen,
|
| You’re still hungry,
|
| You’re still young.
|
| My amigo.
|
| Well his eyes were dead,
|
| But he was still writing down the lines,
|
| He had a quart in his hand,
|
| He said, «I wasn’t made for these times,»
|
| Amigo
|
| Amigo
|
| I see too many of men watered down,
|
| I see too many of fires burn out.
|
| I was there to see your eyes of tire,
|
| And I was there to hear the talk that did inspire.
|
| You shoulda burned your bills,
|
| You shoulda run from the feds,
|
| Forgot your name,
|
| And flushed your meds.
|
| You shoulda said the things you heard in you head,
|
| There’s too many good men living dead.
|
| And I don’t wanna miss a damn thing.
|
| I’m never gonna miss a damn thing.
|
| 'Cause signs lead to signs,
|
| And time’s got time,
|
| Until there’s no time left at all.
|
| I don’t wanna miss a damn thing.
|
| Thanks for coming to my show.
|
| Thanks for coming to my little piece of work.
|
| Thanks for coming to my show.
|
| You never hid in the shadow.
|
| You wanna hang out now.
|
| You’re gonna run out of time now.
|
| We gonna keep on rolling.
|
| It’s gonna keep on going.
|
| It’s gonna roll, man.
|
| You never miss a damn thing.
|
| I’m never gonna miss a damn thing. |