Lyrics

It really doesn't matter how long you have been dead
they'll find some way to make you pay for the gravestone overhead
That dried bouquet of flowers that's blown across the lot
Is laying there like it doesn't care who's resting in your spot

You muscle through the mayhem of another crowded day
Stacking stones with Smith and Jones, giving none of it away
It's gotta make you wonder as you stare into the night
If anyone who's anyone is ever worth the fight

We're still out here on the road where everybody finds his own way home
Once all of the joints have closed you're left with the hoot owls and misfits

You think you're being followed by the storm clouds overhead
So you duck inside the movie house to join the living dead
But you worry as the lights come up and the final credits roll
There's something else that's out there ready to follow you back home

The parking lot is empty there's no one at the desk
Your footsteps in the empty warehouse rumble in your chest
You finally find the stairwell to the tunnels down below
You can't stay here, you can't go back there's no where else to go

We're still out here on the road where everybody finds his own way home
Once all of the joints have closed you're left with the hoot owls and misfits

It's a story of redemption or love or what's been said
it's hard tell, cuz it sounds like hell, as it tumbles through your head
It's a song that's on the radio, and stuck there in your ear
A turn of phrase, that just replays, and logic doesn't hear

We're still out here on the road where everybody finds his own way home
Once all of the joints have closed you're left with the hoot owls and misfits