In the back of a downtown dive bar, on a wooden stage in the corner
You stand with your beat-up guitar, already halfway gone
The din of the drunken dreamers who staggered in from the real world
They lift their glasses skyward, and turn the TV on

You’re singing about a bar fight, a shot and a can of High Life
The tears of a girl you just might leave before too long
A lonesome crying coyote, a sweaty held out high note
A cowboy riding backroads away from everyone

But who are you gonna become if all of your heroes died young

You wake in a stranger’s bedroom, awash in last night’s cheap booze
And she don’t pretend to know you, she just pulls her work clothes on
You stumble through the weekend, til you finally call your girlfriend
I guess it’s just not working, I guess I’m just a dog

You sit at the kitchen table, a six-pack and a capo
An artist and an asshole, you write all of your wrongs
And your heroes grow unruly, they overdose or just leave
Their lives are fucked up movies and you’ve studied every one

But who are you gonna become if all of your heroes are gone
Who are you gonna become if all of your heroes died young