Something is crying in a cradlenThrough an open windownThe changing the channelsnBack behind the building, the brook babbles.nThe shutters rattlenWomen light candlesnI probably shouldn't be herennA writer gets paid to put down in inknPretend he believes all the thoughts that he thinksnWhile the sweat from his brow washes into the sinknAnd down, into the valley of tears.nnStorms, lights on the road.nYeah, you're traveling fast, so you travel alone.nStorms, lights on the road.nGo with the grace of GodnBring everything that you ownnnWhat happened to the face in my wallet?nWhen I went traveling, why didn't it follow?nAnd now the cheeks are hollownI turn on the pillow.nThe maid looks at me and says, Señor,nThe ending is near.nnThe notebooks are filled with figures and signsnTo ease up the day, to soften the timenThey spill out like wine, and on down the linenInto the valley of tears.nnStorms, lights on the road.nYeah, you're traveling fast, so you travel alone.nStorms, lights on the road.nGo with the grace of GodnBring everything that you own.nnNow the valley is covered in shadowsnAll the thoughts I used to think matterednLike soldiers scattered on a field after battlenI'm standing here; I'm waiting for the mist to clear.nI'll empty my pockets, quill tips and booksnSit on the bridge with my feet in the brooknLook out past the edge, one long looknInto the valley of tearsnnStorms, lights on the road.nYeah, you're traveling fast, so you travel alone.nStorms, lights on the road.nGo with the grace of GodnBring everything that you own.nStorms.nThrough rain, storms.nIts a night shadows, clouds scatternThrough the heat, and the rain, oh.nStorms, storms, oh, oh.