| On a long and lonesome highway
|
| east of Omaha
|
| You can listen to the engines moaning
|
| out as one note song
|
| You think about the woman or the girl
|
| you knew the night before
|
| But your thoughts will soon be
|
| wandering the way they always do
|
| When you’re riding sixteen hours and
|
| there’s nothing much to do
|
| And you don’t feel much like riding,
|
| you just wish the trip was through
|
| Chorus:
|
| Here I am — on the road again
|
| There I am — up on the stage
|
| Here I go — playing star again
|
| There I go — turn the page
|
| So you walk into this restaurant
|
| strung out from the road
|
| And you feel the eyes upon you,
|
| as you’re shaking off the cold
|
| You pretend it doesn’t bother you,
|
| but you just want to explode
|
| Yeah, most times you can’t hear 'em
|
| talk, other times you can
|
| All the same old clich’s, «Is it
|
| woman? |
| Is it man?»
|
| And you always seem outnumbered,
|
| you don’t dare make a stand
|
| Make your stand
|
| Chorus
|
| Out there in the spotlight, you’re
|
| a million miles away
|
| Every ounce of energy you try to
|
| give away
|
| As the sweat pours out your body
|
| like the music that you play, yeah
|
| Later in the evening, you lie
|
| awake in bed
|
| With the echoes of the amplifiers
|
| ringing in your head
|
| You smoke the day’s last cigarette,
|
| remembering what she said
|
| What she said
|
| Chorus |