The Old Brige

The Old Brige

The old bridge is made of iron
But it’s as grand as golden gate.

I stood at the bar an drink my beer
And a stranger cought me eye
He spoke of endless long highways
Of big ol Trucks and pretty girls.
Why don’t you break on out he asked me with a smile
Freedom my friend is a feeling  you can’t count in miles.

The old bridge is made of iron
But it’s as grand as golden gate
The colors faden and fallin
But the old girls lookin great.
The wind’s blowin down her walkway
When I walk thru to reach the house
She don’t stand in San Francisco
And may I say I’m glad somehow.

Bridge:
The stranger stared at me and looked so sad
I saw him in his old eyes, I had hurt him bad.

The old bridge is made of iron
But it’s as grand as golden gate
The colors faden and fallin
But the old girls lookin great.
The wind’s blowin down her walkway
When I walk thru to reach the house
She don’t stand in San Francisco
And may I say I’m glad somehow.

I’ve been all around the whole wide world
Been east and westward bound
The north pole down to Istanbul
In the snow and sand and stone
For years and years I’ve searched
The answer I have found
Freedom my friend is a feeling, you can’t count in miles

The old bridge is made of iron
But it’s as grand as golden gate
The colors faden and fallin
But the old girls lookin great.
The wind’s blowin down her walkway
When I walk thru to reach the house
She don’t stand in San Francisco
And may I say I’m glad somehow.