I sing a worried song because I'm worried man
I don’t remember what it was but it must have been bad
I walked and walked all through the night
But I’d never come to understand
How in the morning when the Sun came up
I found that pistol in my hand
God damn, I found that pistol in my hand
Nothing happens but by chance boy, was their final word
But I say we’re just on a breeze whirling around the world
Maybe they’re right, It could be true
That I'm where I'm meant to be
'Cause I prefer the torture of my thoughts
They’ve never lied to me
Not once
They’ve never, ever lied to me
'Cause if you rub your hands together long enough you might strike gold
But if you wait around a month or two it will seem so old
Well, I got that kind of trouble, makes a poor boy want to roam
Same kind of trouble makes a young girl stay at home
And I’ll be here until I'm down to skin and bones
I got the Lovells Stockade blues
There’s no way out
I got the Lovells Stockade blues
