| When I was 17, I called the road my own
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| So many sights to see, I turned every stone
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| I burned the midnight oil, I burned the candle wax
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| With fire in my veins and no one on my back
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| One night found myself around New Orleans way
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| I picked up a rider, whose name he did not say
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| He clicked his long clean nails upon the window dash
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| I got a funny feeling when he flashed his leather skin of ash
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| Now that devil moon won’t light my way
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| Now that devil moon won’t light my way
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| Now that devil moon won’t light my way
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| And I can’t find no one to show the way
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| He traveled with no bags, just an old fedora and an ivory cane
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| He looked me in the eye and said, «Friend, you will never be the same»
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| I laughed to his face and put him right back on the road
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| Then I realized I had nowhere to run, then I realized I had no where to go
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| And I’ve been driving hard
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| Through the wind and rain
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| Looking for a friend
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| But nobody knows my name
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| Driving in the dark, ended up at my father’s home
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| With no answer at the door, thought I was all alone
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| Then I heard a scratching sound and through the windowpane
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| He looked me in the eye and said, «Friend, you’ll never be the same» |