Texty: Jackson Browne. Running on Empty. Load-Out.

Now the seats are all empty
Let the roadies take the stage
Pack it up and tear it down
They're the first to come and last to leave
Working for that minimum wage
They'll set it up in another town

Tonight the people were so fine
They waited there in line
And when they got up on their feet
They made the show

And that was sweet
But I can hear the sound
Of slamming doors and folding chairs
And that's a sound they'll never know

Now roll them cases out and lift them amps
Haul them trusses down and get 'em up them ramps
'Cause when it comes to moving me
You know, you guys are the champs

But when that last guitar's been packed away
You know that I still want to play
So just make sure you got it all set to go
Before you come for my piano

But the band's on the bus
And they're waiting to go
We've got to drive all night
And do a show in Chicago or Detroit, I don't know

We do so many shows in a row
And these towns all look the same
We just pass the time in the hotel rooms
And wander 'round backstage
Till those lights come up and we hear that crowd
And we remember why we came

Now we got Country and Western on the bus
R&B, we got Disco in eight tracks and cassettes in stereo
We've got Rural Scenes and Magazines
We've got Truckers on the CB

And we've got Richard Pryor on the video
We got time to think of the ones we love
While the miles roll away
But the only time that seems too short
Is the time that we get to play

People you've got the power over what we do
You can sit there and wait
Or you can pull us through
Come along, sing the song
You know that you can't go wrong

'Cause when that morning sun comes beating down
You're going to wake up in your town
But we'll be scheduled to appear
A thousand miles away from here