I rode down to the station by the market on the hill
The girls in furs and leather loved me still
You never tried to share the blame, but now your words seem just insane
But these are just the things that people say
I’m leaving this small town, small minds and even smaller talk
The sight of that old train, picks up my walk And as I close that carriage door, your words can’t hurt me anymore But these are just the things that people say