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    No regrets Coyote
    We just come from such different sets of circumstance
    I'm up all night in the studios
    And you're up early on your ranch
    You'll be brushing out a brood mare's tail
    While the sun is ascending
    And I'll just be getting home with my reel to reel...
    There's no comprehending
    Just how close to the bone and the skin and the eyes
    And the lips you can get
    And still feel so alone
    And still feel related
    Like stations in some relay
    You're not a hit and run driver, no, no
    Racing away
    You just picked up a hitcher
    A prisoner of the white lines on the freeway

    We saw a farmhouse burning down
    In the middle of nowhere
    In the middle of the night
    And we rolled right past that tragedy
    Till we turned into some road house lights
    Where a local band was playing
    Locals were up kicking and shaking on the floor
    And the next thing I know
    That Coyote's at my door
    He pins me in a corner and he won't take "No!"
    He drags me out on the dance floor
    And we're dancing close and slow
    Now he's got a woman at home
    He's got another woman down the hall
    He seems to want me anyway
    Why'd you have to get so drunk
    And lead me on that way
    You just picked up a hitcher
    A prisoner of the white lines of the freeway

    I looked a Coyote right in the face
    On the road to Baljennie near my old home town
    He went running thru the whisker wheat
    Chasing some prize down
    And a hawk was playing with him
    Coyote was jumping straight up and making passes
    He had those same eyes - just like yours
    Under your dark glasses
    Privately probing the public rooms
    And peeking thru keyholes in numbered doors
    Where the players lick their wounds
    And take their temporary lovers
    And their pills and powders to get them thru this passion play

    No regrets, Coyote
    I just get off up aways
    You just picked up a hitcher
    A prisoner of the white lines on the freeway

    Coyote's in the coffee shop
    He's staring a hole in his scrambled eggs
    He picks up my scent on his fingers
    While he's watching the waitresses' legs
    He's too far from the Bay of Fundy
    >From Appaloosas and Eagles and tides
    And the air conditioned cubicles
    And the carbon ribbon rides
    Are spelling it out so clear
    Either he's going to have to stand and fight
    Or take off out of here
    I tried to run away myself
    To run away and wrestle with my ego
    And with this flame
    You put here in this Eskimo
    In this hitcher
    In this prisoner
    Of the fine white lines
    Of the white lines on the free, free way


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