By three a.m. all the mornin[C]g birds wil[F]l be crying[C] And that old highway will be [F]sighing And my [C]dreams feel as [Am]cold as my [F]bones on the [C]long [G]walk home. And my [C]coat is old and [F]growin t[C]hin And my feet are numb and stu[G]mbling And it[C]s many the th[Am]ought of a [F]long lost [C]friend That comes to me a[G]gain...