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Boredom |
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Hangin' by myself in a bleak motel |
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Overnight in a small town. |
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Boredom |
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My mind's countin' time, trucks go rollin' by |
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Past the pumps and highway sign. |
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Never was a place that felt less like home. |
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Never woulda come here if I'd only known |
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That it's a one-channel town and I'm all alone. |
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I can't just sit 'n' watch my telephone |
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'Cause no one knows my number and it can't be found |
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And there's no good people just kickin' around |
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So here we are together |
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Machines and me. |
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I feel about as local as a fish in a tree and this |
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Boredom. |
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My mind's countin' time, trucks go rollin' by |
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Past the pumps and highway sign. |
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And in this town all the other sounds have ceased. |
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And the Late Late Show died long ago |
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With a few words from a priest. |
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Boredom |
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Hangin' by myself in a bleak motel |
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Overnight in a small town. |
