by Eric Wood
ã1999 Romany Music BMI


A cursed white line

Is calling me, I long to see

My headlights shine

Down the road

The past is blind

So it just might stay out of sight

Out of mind

And control

That damned white line

Trails behind

And weaves a winding


Tomorrow’s dreams

Underneath those headlights gleam

Just like

Fools’ Gold


Deliver me

From this fool whose cravings rule

And I mistake

For myself

Finally free

From attainments and arrangements

I my soul to

Might sell,

That damned white line

Trails behind

Yet casts no

Sorcerers’ spell

Deliver me

From these chains disguised as dreams

And made of

Fools Gold


Let me make each moment

Even more than real

Ride whatever road I’m on

‘Til I wear out my wheels

Let the future ferment

Just like a fallow field

Then plant me like a pregnant seed

And let me be its yield