We always end up stopped in parking lots
brake lights flash with traffic jammed
anger mounts, and the pavement talks
with each new tiring turn around
the block or city loop we're trapped in.
Drive until your engine heaves with sound
time slows down to a pitch black tar, forever
entwining hollow ground and empty please.
Drive until the day is a silhouette,
and the cloud cover's the clearest seen
around here, it's rare when the scene's set
I miss stars and summer nights and wind blowing
a pulse through the soul of the moments where
we're lucky enough to forget where we're going.
I hope to own a piece of anything, related to
living life while happiness runs itself ragged, and
if I'm lucky enough I'll forget where I'm going.
I cant close my eyes until the evening's old,
its a tired pace I'm dragging always.