Shooting Stars on the Road to Timbuktu

Don't call on me tomorrow, oh, tomorrow I'll be gone You can keep my records, I don't need them anymore At the place where I am going, they don't have no record players They don't know about you, and I won't be the one who tells Dancing drunk and barefoot on the rooftop of your car I'll always remember the look you gave me that first night You smelt of fresh blackberries and I pretended to stay calm How so sweet a thing could end up turning out so sour? Now shooting stars are falling on the road to Timbuktu But I'm asking for no wishes, I'm afraid they may come true Travel light and travel fast like a bird migrating south The same memories that fuel me used to hold me back with doubt I'm still hanging to your picture, but the colors are getting blurred I wonder whether our visions will fade out like that someday There are no tomorrows for the three words; you and m But the road is wide and open, and time does not mean a thing Yes, there are no tomorrows for the three words; you and me But the road is wide and open, and time just does not mean a thing