| Another morning, another motel bed
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| Another city waiting up ahead
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| Light another menthol to clear my mind
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| Of those memories I pretend to forget
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| 'cause I always want to live without regrets
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| But, yeah, I still think of her from time to time
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| And is she still living cross the Harlan County Line
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| When we met we were both living far from home
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| Tryin' to get by and tired of being alone
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| And for a moment I thought she was mine
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| 'Cause she had a voice I just wanted to believe
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| She said her mother was full blood Cherokee
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| And her daddy was a union man down in the mines
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| Fighting the good fight cross the Harlan County Line…
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| People can be Noble or people can be Cruel
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| They’ll make you president or they’ll make you a fool
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| But she always treated me nice and kind
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| Until that day she left me on my own
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| She said there was trouble she had to handle back home
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| But she gave me a number and said, «Call anytime»
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| If I ever made it cross the Harlan County Line…
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| The years disappear out on the highway
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| And I lost her number somewhere along the way
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| But I’ll say a little prayer that she’s doing fine
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| Another morning, another motel bed
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| Another city waiting up ahead
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| And another small memory to leave behind
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| Somewhere cross the Harlan County Line |