On a long and lonesome highway, east of Omaha. You can listen to the engine moaning out its one lone song You can think about woman, or the girl you knew the night before, But your thoughts will soon be wandering, the way they always do. When your riding sixteen hours and there's nothing much to do And you don't feel much like riding, you just wish the trip was through. Hmmmmmm, Say, here I am, on the road again. There I am, up on the stage. Here I go, playing star again, There I go, turn the page. Well you walk into a restaurant, strung out from the road, You can feel the eyes upon you as you're shaking off the cold, You pretend it doesn't bother you, but you just want to explode. Most times you can't a hear 'em talk, other times you can, All the same old cliches, "is that woman or a man?" You always seem outnumbered, you don't dare make a stand. Here I am, on the road again. There I am, up on the stage. Here I go, playing the star again. There I go, turn the page. Out there in the spotlight you're a million miles away, Every ounce of energy, you try and give away, As the sweat pours out your body like the music that you play. Later in the evening as you lie awake in bed, With the echoes from the amplifiers ringin' in your head, You smoke the day's last cigarette, rememberin' what she said. Now here I am, on the road again. There I am, up on the stage. Here I go, playing star again. There I go, turn the page. Here I am, on the road again. There I am, up on the stage. Ah here I go, playing star again. There I go, there I go.