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Gone off in the pitch-black dark |
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To work the morning tour |
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He's halfway to the highway |
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And he won't be back for hours |
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His tail lights down the gravel road |
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You watch them round the bend |
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Nothing's on the TV |
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But something's in the wind |
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And it makes you crazy |
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And it makes you blue |
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It's a restless feeling |
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And it's nothing new |
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Listen to the buzzing |
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Of the June bugs and the flies |
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The sink's all full of dishes |
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You might just let 'em lie |
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You might just pour yourself a drink |
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And sit outside awhile |
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He won't miss the whiskey |
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He knows it's not your style |
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And he don't care enough |
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To even wonder why |
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You fight off his fumbling hands |
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With daggers in your eyes |
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Time sure flies when you're having fun |
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Wasn't it just yesterday you turned twenty-one |
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Does it still matter what you might have done |
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Had you tried |
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His bird dogs in their wire cage |
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Are barking at the moon |
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You turn the covers back |
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And hope the dawn don't come too soon |
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Draw the shades to keep your dark eyes |
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From the glare of the vapor light |
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But the sheets are cool and empty |
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And you won't sleep tonight |
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With a half moon rising |
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And a warm gusty breeze |
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Blowing from the southwest |
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Whispering in the trees |
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The asphalt 'neath the tires |
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Makes a hollow whining sound |
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And it stretches on forever |
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Through a thousand little towns |
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With their stores all dark and silent |
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And their flashing yellow lights |
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And nobody sees your passing |
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In the fury of your flight |
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You'll see them later |
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Some other day |
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Self preservation |
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What can you say |
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Time sure flies when you're having fun |
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Your mind's all made up now and it's all said and done |
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Flying down the four lane with the morning sun |
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In your eyes |