A few things are more beautiful than driving in a motorcar on a road at night.
The dashboard lights a whisper trace along the time it started black at the speed of light on a quantum track.
And the city's like the meteorite embedded in the ballet floor, like some Ronswell said, the orange glow of human lives.
Everybody looking for a little bit of happiness. God bless.
I didn't think that we would run away.
I didn't think that you'd believe in me.
You might sit and think it through and find out what is driving you.
We could figure out a back route way and make it to a little place that I know by sight.
Meet together through the afternoon and maybe *** a little sleep.
A new drive at night. It'll be alright.
I didn't think that we would run away.
I didn't think that you'd believe in me.
You might sit and think it through and find out what is driving you.
I need you more than life itself.
I've never believed in anyone else, but I don't know how the story ends.
But now that the past is far away, no longer controlling you day by day.
If only the road that lies ahead could be driving you.
If only the road that lies ahead could be driving you.
If only the road that lies ahead could be driving you.
If only the road that lies ahead could be driving you.
Like a motor car on a road at night. A channel cut through the darkened trees.
Illuminated endlessly by the car's headlights.
It'll be alright.
I didn't think that we would run away.
I didn't think that you'd believe in me.
You might sit and think it through and find out what is driving you.
You might sit and think it through and find out what is driving you.
Driving you.
Driving you.
Driving you.
Driving you.
Driving you.