It's a long strecth of highway
At midnight in New Mexico
It's a small colored light
That shines from your car radio
It's the old motel owner
Who sleeps on a cot
And gives you the very last cup from his pot
It's a lonely feeling, it's what you've got
It's a lonely feeling, like it or not
It's the crack in the sidewalk
Right next to a pay telephone
It's someone's recorder
When you're hoping someone is home
It's an hour to kill
To do what you please
But nobody's up for shooting the breeze
It's a lonely feeling, it's like a disease
It's a lonely feeling, you pray that it leaves
It's three men from Chile
Who are tired and they want to go home
They've run out of money
And they're stuck up in east Oregon
So you give