| In the deep of the darkest night
|
| There’s a beacon of yellow light
|
| (singing)
|
| At the Waffle House
|
| At the edge of the dark abyss
|
| The confusion decends like this
|
| Just deeper and denser
|
| At the Waffle House
|
| After the midnight hour
|
| Scraping the eggs and flour
|
| From the napkin dispenser
|
| And we who run from our homes
|
| When the silence of sorrow
|
| Won’t leave us alone
|
| And we who are out there this late
|
| Be it heartbreak or highway
|
| Or some altered state
|
| When it’s time that we slow up
|
| And wrap both our hands around our cup
|
| And stay until the feeling goes
|
| As long as there are broken hearts and dreams
|
| And all of that highway in between
|
| The waffle house will never close
|
| At the Waffle House
|
| Under the cobalt sky
|
| The drivers with bloodshot eyes
|
| At the Waffle House
|
| If you’re facing some bitter truth
|
| We’ll save you a window booth
|
| And we will be waiting
|
| When you run from your home
|
| When the silence of sorrow won’t leave you alone
|
| When you are out there this late
|
| Be it heart break or highway or some altered state |
| When it’s time that you slow up
|
| And wrap both your hands around your cup
|
| And stay until the feeling goes
|
| As long at there are broken hearts and dreams
|
| And all of that highway in between
|
| The Waffle House will never close |