| I know this road like the back of my hand
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| Same with the stations on the FM band
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| Farms and truck stops, firework stands
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| I know this road like the back of my hand
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| Southern secrets still buried deep
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| Brooding and restless 'neath the cracked concrete
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| If you were from here you would defend me to the death
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| Along with the ghosts of highway twenty
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| I went through hell when I was younger
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| Deep in the well you’ll see the hunger
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| To find the strength I’ve got within me
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| To wrestle with the ghosts of highway twenty
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| Been sixty years, I don’t want for nothing
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| But my tears they keep on coming
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| And my fears continue to haunt me
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| Along with the ghosts of highway twenty
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| Who I am now is who I was then
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| I knew some how I’d come back again
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| No doubt about it, I’m next of kin
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| To all the ghosts along highway twenty
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| Run down motels and faded billboards
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| Used cars for sale and rusty junkyards
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| This two lane blacktop will never let me
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| Let go of the ghosts along highway twenty
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| And I have seen the signs that say
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| We’re closing in on the final days
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| But I got nothing to repent
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| My saving grace is with the ghosts of highway twenty
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| Every question, every breath
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| Every exit leaves a little death
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| In its wake a memory
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| That will wander with the ghosts of highway twenty
|
| And I have seen the signs that say
|
| We’re closing in on the final days
|
| But I’ve got nothing to repent
|
| My saving grace is with the ghosts of highway twenty
|
| My saving grace is with the ghosts on highway twenty
|
| My saving grace is with the ghosts on highway twenty |