Stood still on a highway I saw a woman by the side of the road
With a face that I knew like my own, reflected in my window
Well, she walked up to my quarter light and she bent down real slow
A fearful pressure paralysed me in my shadows
She said: Son, what are you doing here?
My fear for you has turned me in my grave
I said: Mama, I come to the valley of the rich, myself to sell
She said: Son, this is the road to hell