| Sunday night, its supper time
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| The hotel’s full and all is fine
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| You can see that neon No Vacancy sign
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| From the window of room 39
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| Monday morning at half past eight
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| Everybody’s gone, they left no trace
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| I sit alone as the day grows late
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| Wait to see your friendly face
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| Why you chose my hotel
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| I’m not real qualified to tell
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| It’s just your face I remember well
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| When you asked if I had a room to sell
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| Well, maybe you liked just what you saw
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| The cable TV and the indoor spa
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| Or maybe it was the low, low price
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| Twenty-seven bucks a night
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| They say the highway is for lovers, but he ain’t no friend of mine Because
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| every time I find my heart, I lose it to that long yellow line
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| You checked in, I checked you out
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| You smiled from the corners of your mouth
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| I turned on the no-vacancy sign
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| As you checked in to room 39
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| I saw the light from your TV
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| You were watching channel 23
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| The night was long, the dark was deep
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| I kinda cried myself to sleep
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| They say the highway is for lovers, but he ain’t no friend of mine Because
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| every time I find my heart, I lose it to that long yellow line
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| Morning broke itself at last
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| You got your continental breakfast
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| Dropped off the key and said goodbye
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| I think I thought I heard you sigh
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| I caught a glimpse of your licence plate
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| You were drifting down the interstate
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| It said you were from Delaware
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| I said, «Oh, it must be gorgeous there»
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| They say the highway is for lovers, but he ain’t no friend of mine Because
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| every time I find my heart, I lose it to that long yellow line
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| To that long yellow line |