I haven't taken many chances in my life It's why I have these hard regrets Like a broken-down ship trying to dock in ports and towns all filled up Tugboats have pulled me aimlessly along Not to say that all I've done is frozen in mid-step The blood inside my body is still warm It's why the thought of sitting still, of staying put with time to kill Is murdering my passion while I find That you can't hide or stop from moving And there's the tide: it's coming in or going home My heart is not alone In longing for the colors of the distant shore I don't think we have enough states in this land It's time we probably added a couple more For silver spoons with etched-on names And truckers crossing golden plains And all the flag-makers still looking for work And in time a hundred states will be embarrassingly few And all the states will further separate Til souths have norths and norths have souths And people finally close their mouths Start governing themselves, and wonder what to do with Their own thoughts A curtain call and twenty-one shots Dying like a soldier, staring at the sky And longing for the colors of the distant shore Truth is like a cousin whose picture's on the wall Smiling at the certain unchanging age But when they finally meet again, that picture is a scowling man A distant relative of what was once Now I hear you get to make a last request Something with that strange and final breath Somewhere there's a bus to catch in south dakota Where the stars stretch And daylight fades and sunsets lay to rest The rage of youth Like a rotting oak or sweet vermouth There's something left, and it leaves me drifting along Longing for the colors of the distant shore