I'm sitting here watching the trucks and cars
on the interstate highway, I wonder where their heading for.

Passed the beat up row homes and the liquor stores,
past the pawn shops, bus stops, cheap hotels and the bars.
I watch them roll, I wonder where they go.

Where's everybody going? Where did they come from?
With a million starts in the sky, I sit here every night alone
on the edge of town, they make a humming sound.

On the highway everybody makes it home.

Yeah I tell myself stories about the good old days
when this town had more than lonely hearts and closed down factories

Back then I had a house down on Staimbridge St.
there were pretty girls everywhere, street parades and families.
Now they're gone. I wonder where they've gone.

And everyday felt like the fourth of July,
but now I sit here by the overpass
dreaming as the cars roll by.
On the edge of town.

On the highway, on the highway,
on the highway everybody makes it home.

And I know someone has one somewhere.
And I'm counting on you,
cause the highway has so many lights...
And so many chances.

On the highway, on the highway,
everybody makes it home.

I'm sitting here watching the trucks and cars
on the interstate highway, I wonder where their heading for.
On the edge of town, they make a humming sound.