On my way to the telluride sawmill today, I thought of an old friend long gone away.
He took to ramblin' when he turned seventeen, I stayed at home with the family.
A collector of dreams was my old friend, he talked about the times yet to come.
I took to workin' at the telluride sawmill, I've been there since I turned twenty-one.
And the river keeps rollin' past the south county line, I'd love to row with it, but I've run out of time.
The days go by like the logs at the river, it's not often I think of my old friend.
We grew up in the usual fashion, never wanting to grow up at all.
I found a family, he found the rail, and he left on a train for St. Paul.
And the river keeps rollin' past the south county line, I'd love to row with it, but I've run out of time.
The days go by like the logs at the river, I guess I ain't gettin' no younger.
Mr. Preacher, won't you give me an answer? Lord, I can't go on this way.
Growin' old and I don't feel so good, I guess I've been wastin' my time.
Telluride, telluride, and I guess I've been wastin' my time.