A year now and nothing much has changednHoled up in a motel in El PasonThis was meant to be my great escapenI got lost along the way amongst Court TV and take-outnnGoing to write my Moby DicknMore like scratching lyrics on paper platesnI spent the best years of my lifenWaiting on the best years of my lifenSo what's there to write about?nnWhat have I done? (repeated)nnSo is this my destiny?nFrom Starlight Inn to eternitynThe gods must be laughing down at menHa, ha, hannA traveling salesman at twenty years oldnStranded in Ann Arbor with a flat tirenI watched the sun sadly setnAny younger, I may have weptnMuch older, I wouldn't have noticednBut I was out there in the worldnAnd then the world passed me bynI told everyone back home I was taking it by stormnInstead I watched it from the roadsidennWhat have I done? (repeated)nnAs my friends were writing their own playsnI sit on a darkened center stagenJust waiting behind the curtainnnWhat have I done? (repeated)nnAnd if those curtains opened upnIf I could plead to the audiencenThis is exactly what I would ask themnnHave I become so blindnI can no longer see the beauty in an evergreen?nI was sure it was once magnificentnNow I hardly notice itnSo what's to become of me?nnWhat have I done? (repeated)nnThey say each snowflake is uniquenBut as they're covering the citynThey look pretty much the same to mennNo, no, no, what have I done? (repeated)nnWhat have I done? (repeated)