From the circles of hell to the center of the cyclone
There's many crossroads all leading home
From the edge of the cradle to the edge of the grave
There's time to be wasted, there's time to be saved
Between the white, white lightning and the sweet, sweet thunder
There's enough to make you cry and enough to make you wonder
And in between the back you've turned
The rainbow's end and the bridges you've burned
There's different ways of drawing lines
Some are yours and some are mine
Some are hers and some are his
And that's the way it is
And it's six of one half dozen of the other
There's a ghost of a long, lost lover
There's a mother and a child and they're singing out of tune
There's a mad man dancing on the dark side of the moon
There's a doomsday messiah living down on skid row
There's a outlaw sneaking back from Mexico
There's a king of the mountain, there's a leader of the pack
There's a christian soldier and he's never coming back
And there's different ways of drawing lines
Some are yours and some are mine
Some are hers and some are his
And that's the way it is
Now I'm living out here on the edge of the wilderness
Uncivilized but I couldn't care less
I'm far away from the man with his common sense
His arbitrary rules and his barbed wire fence
I've got nothing personal against that man
I'm cutting corners myself as much as I can
But he says the show's all over when the curtain's been pulled
He says the bottle's half empty when I know it's half full
And there's different ways of drawing lines
Some are yours and some are mine
Some are hers and some are his
And that's the way it is