which way to go

I don't watch TV
I don't listen to the radio
I'm hanging 'round the trainyard
waiting for that lonesome whistle to blow
I don't know why I think
it'll bring me something I don't know
ain't it a son-of-a-bitch
when you can't decide which way to go

I don't need no doctor
to warn me 'bout my mental heath
I'd say:
Doc, my brain's acting strange
it's insane what remains of myself
I'm rolling again
as the planet spins out of control
throwing its hissy fits
when you can't decide which way to go