I was born in Nashville   with a song in my head.   And it took me twenty years   to get a guitar in my hand.   And now that I do,   I just want to sing it for you   like it's never been said to you.   There is nothing else that I know how to do.      I can't stop singing about   all the things I've seen and heard   with my head against her heart.   I couldn't make it work.      So now, I walk the streets at night   to lay beneath her bedroom light.   Hold my breath as she walks by   she asked me to live for her,   but all I offered was to die.      So I pray for an angel on its way   to comb her hair as she washes her face.   I pray for an angel on its way   to tuck her in and keep her safe.      The older you get the more you cry   the more you understand those old folk rhymes   it's got me every evening, just hoping to die.   and so every morning I'll thank God I'm alive.   So, I'll pray for a song on its way   to cure your ills and heal the lame   So, I'll pray for a song on its way   to take shape and replace our shame.