Got my Allman Brothers cassettes stacked up on the dash, got some Jack back in the trunk and a tank full of gas.

Was an American archetype, the bad guy with the big heart.

The only problem was I needed to use my own group, and things didn't happen until I did. It wasn't a real country sound, what I did. I've listened to it, and I think it was more a west coast rock thing, you know? But it fit. It was country, but it was my own interpretation of country.

Besides that, I felt guilty. I thought for some reason... I was alive, and Buddy and those boys were dead, and I didn't know how, but somehow I'd caused it.

I may be crazy, but it keeps me from going insane.

Those neon light nights, couldn't stay out of fights, keeps a-haunting me in memories. There is one in every crowd, for crying out loud, why was is always turning out to be me?

But Buddy was an upper. He was happy. He loved music, and he was really happy. I don't know... I don't believe in reincarnation at all, but if all that stuff is true, then he might have been on his last time around.