| The cold, dark night |
| Is split by the stab of twin headlights |
| Like fingers of guides that know of it |
| But have never been there |
| And eyes red-rimmed |
| Are pealed for the n’th time |
| And strain for the roadsigns |
| That flash past the windshield |
| In the hard drivin' rain |
| His mind is not dwelling on beds of white linen |
| But the endless gray ribbon that winds on ahead |
| A moon comes up, cheesy and golden |
| Reminding of older times, gunning moter times |
| Restless and young |
| A cut glass bowl, free with four gallons |
| Is now the companion |
| Of what once was the champion of heartbreakers' row |
| His thoughts may be thinking of sweet smelling women |
| But the endless gray ribbon is his for tonight |
| From Coastacola to Richfolk, Virginia |
| It’s amazing how samey they are |
| Twenty five buys some time with a waitress |
| Passion’s Peterbuilt out in the car lot |
| His thoughts may be thinking of sweet smelling women |
| But the endless gray ribbon is his for tonight |
| Endless gray ribbon |
| Endless gray ribbon |
| Endless gray ribbon… |