A long, long time ago, I can still remember how that music used to make me smile. And I knew if I had my chance, that I could make those people dance, and maybe they'd be happy for a while. But February made me shiver with every paper I'd deliver. Bad news on the doorstep, I couldn't take one more step. I can't remember if I cried when I read about his widowed bride, but something touched me deep inside. The day the music died. So bye-bye, Miss American Pie. Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry. Then good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye. Singing, this'll be the day that I die. This'll be the day that I die. This'll be the day that I die. Drinkin', drinkin', drinkin', drinkin', drinkin', drinkin'. Now for ten years we've been on our own. One musk rose fat on a rolling stone, but that's not how it used to be. When the jester sang for the king and queen in a coat, he borrowed from James Dean and a voice that came from you and me. Oh, and while the king was looking down, the jester stole his thorny crown. The courtroom was adjourned, no verdict was returned. And while Lenny read a book on Marx, a quartet practiced in the park, and we sang dirges in the dark. The day the music died. And we were singing, bye, bye, Miss American Pie. Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry. Then good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye. Singing, this'll be the day that I die. This'll be the day that I die. This'll be the day that I die. Drinkin', drinkin', drinkin', drinkin', drinkin', drinkin'. Oh, and there we were all in one place. A generation lost in space with no time left to start again. So come on, Jack, be nimble. Jack, be quick. Jack Flash sat on a candlestick cause fire is the devil's only friend. Oh, and as I watched him on the stage, my hands were clenched in fists of rage. No angel born in hell could break that Satan's spell. And as the flames climbed high into the night to light the sacrificial rite, I saw Satan laughing with delight. The day the music died. And he was singing, bye-bye, Miss American Pie. Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry. Then good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye. Singing, this'll be the day that I die. This'll be the day that I die. This'll be the day that I die. I met a girl who sang the blues, and I asked her for some happy news. But she just smiled and turned away. I went down to the Sacred Store, where I'd heard the music years before. But the man there said the music wouldn't play. And in the streets the children screamed. The lovers cried and the poets dreamed. But not a word was spoken. The church bells all were broken. And the three men I admire most, the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost, They caught the last train for the coast. The day the music died. And they were singing, bye-bye, Miss American Pie. Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry. Then good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye. Singing, this'll be the day that I die. This'll be the day that I die. This'll be the day that I die. Bye-bye, Miss American Pie. Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry. Then good old boys were drinking whiskey and rye. Singing, this'll be the day that I die. This'll be the day that I die. This'll be the day that I die. Singing, this'll be the day that I die.