| A grinding halt on the North 405.
|
| Just trying to escape, that’s when I hear you sigh: «I hate this fucking town.
|
| I hope I never come back.» |
| You roll your window up.
|
| And it’s so plain to see, like we’re staring into the bright side of this moon.
|
| And we’re just running away in the dead of the night.
|
| But we’re stuck in reverse in a sea of crimson lights.
|
| We sit in silence.
|
| You turn the volume up.
|
| I check the rearview and see the fire trucks.
|
| We don’t say nothin', but that says everything.
|
| And we ain’t moving… Somehow the miles, they grow between.
|
| Like the distance, the years, and all the places that we’ve been… The basements,
|
| the graves, it’s an endless pile-up of love, of hate, of midnight traffic in
|
| my guts.
|
| And it’s so obvious to me the things I once could not see.
|
| We’re just running away in the dead of the night.
|
| But we’re stuck in reverse amidst emergency lights.
|
| The lights are flashing, the siren sounds, and through the jaws of life the
|
| blood spreads thick on the ground.
|
| But we ain’t stopping.
|
| And we ain’t turning around.
|
| I’ve got my foot to the floor, head first straight into midnight traffic.
|
| No, we ain’t turning around.
|
| We ain’t stopping, no, and we ain’t turning around. |