Now the seats are all empty
|
Let the roadies take the stage
|
Pack it up and tear it down
|
They're the first to come and last to leave
|
Working for that minimum wage
|
They'll set it up in another town
|
Tonight the people were so fine
|
They waited there in line
|
And when they got up on their feet they made the show
|
And that was sweet
|
But I can hear the sound
|
Of slamming doors and folding chairs
|
And that's a sound they'll never know
|
|
Now roll them cases out and lift them amps
|
Haul them trusses down and get'em up them ramps
|
'Cause when it comes to moving me
|
You guys are the champs
|
But when that last guitar's been packed away
|
You know that I still want to play
|
So just make sure you got it all set to go
|
Before you come for my piano
|
|
But the band's on the bus
|
And they're waiting to go
|
We've got to drive all night and do a show in Chicago
|
or Detroit, I don't know
|
We do so many shows in a row
|
And these towns all look the same
|
We just pass the time in our hotel rooms
|
And wander 'round backstage
|
Till those lights come up and we hear that crowd
|
And we remember why we came
|
|
Now we got country and western on the bus
|
R and B, we got disco in eight tracks and cassettes in stereo
|
We've got rural scenes & magazines
|
We've got truckers on the CB
|
We've got Richard Pryor on the video
|
We got time to think of the ones we love
|
While the miles roll away
|
But the only time that seems too short
|
Is the time that we get to play
|
|
People you've got the power over what we do
|
You can sit there and wait
|
Or you can pull us through
|
Come along, sing the song
|
You know you can't go wrong
|
'Cause when that morning sun comes beating down
|
You're going to wake up in your town
|
But we'll be scheduled to appear
|
A thousand miles away from here
|
|
-----------------
|
The Load-Out / Stay
|
| Jackson Browne |
