The Incident
At junction 8 the traffic starts to slowArtilleries of braking lights and bluish glowAscending in a plumage of twisted steelShattered glass and confetti dashed upon the wheel
When a car crash gets you off you've lost your gripWhen a fuck is not enough you know you've slippedWhen the church is full it means you've just been hadWhen the world has gone to seed you're so detached
Got a feeling that I want you to be there
Driving by on my way to somewhere elseI fill my lungs with a noxious burning smellThere is weed and grey concrete like this for milesDead souls in my rear view mirror hitch a ride for a while
I want to be loved