My pocket don't drive me fast, my mother treats me slow, my statue's got a concrete heart but you're the coldest bitch I know. In the factory that yo… - Sixto Rodriguez

Born in the troubled city
in rock and roll USA
in the shadow of the tallest building,
I vowed I would break away.
Listened to the Sunday actors
but all they would ever say:
That you can't get away from it.
No you can't get away.
No you can't get away from it.
No you can't get away.

The generals hate holidays.
Others shoot up to chase the sun blues away.
Another store front church is open.
Sea of neon lights. A boxer, his shadow fights.
Soldier tired and sailor broken.
Winter's asleep at my window.
Cold wind waits at my door.
She asks me up to her place
but I won't be down anymore.

And I'll forget about the girl that said no.
Then I'll tell who I want where to go.
And I'll forget about your lies and deceit
and your attempts to be so discreet.
Maybe today, yeah,
I'll slip away.
And you can keep your symbols of success.
Then I'll pursue my own happiness.
And you can keep your clocks and routines.
Then I'll go mend all my shattered dreams.
Maybe today, yeah,
I'll slip away.