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 the Iowa highway slum
|
when the open road is closing in
|
and you can't say where it ends and you begin
|
when every truckstop dive's you another five years off your life
|
when the open road is closing in
|
and the dotted yellow lines begin to spin
|
when 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
|
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 swingset's fallen down
|
|
-----------------
|
When the Open Road Is Closing In
|
| The Magnetic Fields |
