September, 1969. he found himself waiting again. out at the crossroads, out on the lam. this time not running, this time by right. a road-side hitcher waits for headlights. the blues won't bring me down. that pick-up truck stopped. where you headed, kid? back to the boardwalk coast to fix the wrong i did. that old man would bring him just as far as he could. his hellhound sniffing out for a trace of any good. the hope he's chasing. the blues he carried are dead and buried.