When I look back on the road we've worn,

All the forlorn love, and peace foresworn,

I can say at least I've laid down all my bets.

I've packed a fair bit of living in a couple three years --

Terror and laughter and a couple three tears --

And I ain't figured out how to pack out a room just yet,

But I can pack two weeks in a duffel bag, and pack

a mean cigarette.

If we'd just stop and think

About the one thing we've done right,

It'd be writing ragged songs

About a righteous ragged life.

And if we'd stop and think a bit longer

About where we went all wrong,

It'd be learning how to live from righteous, ragged songs.

Alabama, by now, I should hope you know,

I'd die for you if called to do so,

But I'm being courted by California and Tennessee.

Waiting at the gate, I wink away a tear,

Talking on the phone about Fugazi and fear:

"Dave, we're fixing to board, but just one last thing, please:

Say a prayer for punk rock, and a prayer for me."

If we'd just stop and think

About the one thing we've done right,

It'd be writing ragged songs

About a righteous ragged life.

And if we'd stop and think a bit longer

About where we went all wrong,

It'd be learning how to live from righteous, ragged songs.