Introduction

In the annals of classic rock, few songs evoke the sense of adventure and camaraderie quite like “End Of The Line” by The Traveling Wilburys. Released in 1988 as part of their debut album, this uplifting track embodies the spirit of exploration and friendship, inviting listeners on a journey of discovery and connection.

Did You Know?

1. Origin:

“End Of The Line” was written by all members of The Traveling Wilburys, a supergroup consisting of George Harrison, Jeff Lynne, Roy Orbison, Tom Petty, and Bob Dylan. The song was recorded during sessions for their debut album, “Traveling Wilburys Vol. 1.”

2. Collaboration:

The Traveling Wilburys’ formation was a result of spontaneous jam sessions among the members, who came together as friends and fellow musicians. “End Of The Line” reflects the camaraderie and chemistry shared among these legendary artists, making it a standout track in their collective repertoire.

3. Themes:

“End Of The Line” conveys themes of resilience, friendship, and the journey of life. Its lyrics celebrate the enduring bonds that unite people, even in the face of challenges and uncertainties. With its uplifting melody and positive message, the song resonates with audiences of all ages.

4. Legacy:

“End Of The Line” remains a beloved favorite among fans of The Traveling Wilburys and classic rock enthusiasts alike. Its timeless appeal and universal themes continue to inspire listeners around the world, ensuring its place as a classic in the rock music canon.

5. Cultural Impact:

Beyond its musical success, “End Of The Line” has left an indelible mark on popular culture. The song has been featured in films, television shows, and commercials, further cementing its status as a timeless anthem of friendship and adventure.

Video

Lyrics: End Of The Line 

Well it’s all right, riding around in the breeze
Well it’s all right, if you live the life you please
Well it’s all right, doing the best you can
Well it’s all right, as long as you lend a handYou can sit around and wait for the phone to ring (End of the Line)
Waiting for someone to tell you everything (End of the Line)
Sit around and wonder what tomorrow will bring (End of the Line)
Maybe a diamond ringWell it’s all right, even if they say you’re wrong
Well it’s all right, sometimes you gotta be strong
Well it’s all right, As long as you got somewhere to lay
Well it’s all right, everyday is Judgment Day

Maybe somewhere down the road aways (End of the Line)
You’ll think of me, wonder where I am these days (End of the Line)
Maybe somewhere down the road when somebody plays (End of the Line)
Purple haze

Well it’s all right, even when push comes to shove
Well it’s all right, if you got someone to love
Well it’s all right, everything’ll work out fine
Well it’s all right, we’re going to the end of the line

Don’t have to be ashamed of the car I drive (End of the Line)
I’m just glad to be here, happy to be alive (End of the Line)
It don’t matter if you’re by my side (End of the Line)
I’m satisfied

Well it’s all right, even if you’re old and gray
Well it’s all right, you still got something to say
Well it’s all right, remember to live and let live
Well it’s all right, the best you can do is forgive

Well it’s all right, riding around in the breeze
Well it’s all right, if you live the life you please
Well it’s all right, even if the sun don’t shine
Well it’s all right, we’re going to the end of the line

You Missed

“He Died the Way He Lived — On His Own Terms.” That phrase haunted the night air when news broke: on April 6, 2016, Merle Haggard left this world in a final act worthy of a ballad. Some say he whispered to his family, “Today’s the day,” and he wasn’t wrong — he passed away on his 79th birthday, at home in Palo Cedro, California, after a long battle with pneumonia. Born in a converted boxcar in Oildale, raised in dust storms and hardship, Merle’s life read like a country novel: father gone when he was nine, teenage years tangled with run-ins with the law, and eventual confinement in San Quentin after a botched burglary. It was in that prison that he heard Johnny Cash perform — and something inside him snapped into motion: a vow not to die as a mistake, but to rise as a voice for the voiceless. By the time he walked free in 1960, the man who once roamed barrooms and cellblocks had begun weaving songs from scars: “Mama Tried,” “Branded Man,” “Okie from Muskogee” — each line steeped in the grit of a life lived hard and honest. His music didn’t just entertain — it became country’s raw pulse, a beacon for those who felt unheralded, unseen. Friends remembered him as grizzly and tender in the same breath. Willie Nelson once said, “He was my brother, my friend. I will miss him.” Tanya Tucker recalled sharing bologna sandwiches by the river — simple moments, but when God called him home, those snapshots shook the soul: how do you say goodbye to someone whose voice felt like memory itself? And so here lies the mystery: he died on his birthday. Was it fate, prophecy, or a gesture too perfect to dismiss? His son Ben once disclosed that a week earlier, Merle had told them he would go that day — as though he charted his own final chord. This is where the story begins, not ends. Because legends don’t vanish — they echo. And every time someone hums “Sing Me Back Home,” Merle Haggard lives again.