Lyrics:

Through the week he sits looking out across the field

With a headaches' grip that won't let up

Brought on by the clutter of trivial things

Still it makes him feel better when Son House sings

The view's clear to the horizon clear and wide

Except for the power poles off to one side

He lights up a smoke as the next song begins

To slip away from the age we're in

The needle slowly rises from the groove

The record's slid back in it's sleeve

And carefully placed back on the shelf

He grabs the case sitting by the door

And heads on out past the truck stop signs

Last light drops on the thin white lines

Saturday night when the act begins

Slip away from the age we're in

Saturday night when the act begins

Slip away from the age we're in

Under the lights he stomps and he sighs

Throws his head back way off mic

Brass tube on steel it slips and it whines

Back to '25 in his mind

All that makes his body so tense

Is all the more for him to rail against

Saturday night when the act begins

Slip away from the age we're in

The days of wages and pages of sin

Can't escape from the age we're in

The days of wages and pages of sin