time, measured in dotted yellow lines, has passed you by
and I never said an honest thing to you in all my life
hard times go slowly and the good times never come
the world is a motor inn in an iowa highway slum
when the open road is closing in
and you can't say where it ends and you begin
when every truck stop dive's another five years off your life
when the open road is closing in
and the dotted yellow lines begin to spin
and the sky begins to fall on everything you like at all
you won't be coming home again
ciao
you keep on drowning in the roads between the towns
and now I have been closing all the shutters in the house
well, I know you'll be back when every tree is turning brown
you'll find the house is empty and the swing set's fallen down
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