He was born in the fall of his 20th year, coming home to place he'd never been before. He left yesterday behind, you might say he was born again, might say he found a key for every door. When first came to the mountains, his life was far away. On the road hanging by a song, but the strings are already broken but he doesn't really care, keeps changes fast and it don't last for long. The Colorado Rocky Mountain high, I've raining fire in the sky, the shadow from the star light is softer then a lullaby.