Well, I ran out of whiskey halfway to God,

Pulled off the freeway where the asphalt rots.

Sign said Last Exit Motel — Color TV!

But the “O” was busted, so it just said “Hell " to me

Desk clerk looked like he died last June,

Said, “Cash up front, son, checkout’s soon.”

I said, “Ain’t we all just renting time?”

He just laughed and poured me turpentine.

It’s the Last Exit Motel, baby, where the lost hearts dwell,

You get a free cup of coffee and a one-way smell.

There’s a jukebox playing Hank, and the ice machine moans,

You check in with your sins and you leave ‘em as bones.

Oh, it’s the Last Exit Motel, ain’t heaven, ain’t hell,

But the devil sure tips the bell.

Room 9’s got stains in the shape of a crown,

And a Gideon Bible turned upside down.

The maid’s got a limp and a tattooed wrist,

Of a wolf howlin’ out in the morning mist.

I heard two ghosts fighting in the room next door,

Sounded like love, but they lost the score.

I tuned my guitar to an AM hum,

Played “Carmelita” ‘til my fingers went numb.

Yeah, it’s the Last Exit Motel, where the clocks don’t run,

And every shadow’s got a smoking gun.

They say you can rest, but you better not dream,

The sheets smell like gas and the moonlight screams.

It’s the Last Exit Motel, where the lost dogs yell,

And the preacher won’t cast no spell.

There’s a mirror in the hallway that don’t reflect right,

Shows a man with my face, but his eyes ain't light.

I asked him, “Hey buddy, you been here long?”

He said, “Son, this is where they play your wrong songs.”

Morning came sideways through nicotine glass,

And I swore I’d leave, but I couldn’t pass.

My car was gone, or maybe I dreamed,

The lot just shimmered like gasoline.

So I grabbed my bag and my last cigarette,

But the clerk said, “Sir, your tab ain’t settled yet.”

I said, “What’s the charge?” He said, “Boy, you’ll tell

When you get where you’re going, you’ll know damn well.”

Yeah, it’s the Last Exit Motel, on the road to doubt,

You can check in easy, but you won’t check out.

It’s a roadside prayer, it’s a halfway curse,

Where the second verse always comes out worse.

Oh, the Last Exit Motel, where the bad hearts swell,

And the jukebox plays “Lawyers, Guns and Hell.”

He said, “Tip your maid, don’t call it sin,

There’s always room here for the shape you’re in.”

Then he grinned with a mouth like a busted bell

Welcome home, son, to the Last Exit Motel.