The best kinds of drives are the kind with no real destination
Where I have no where to be
And no where to go
The kind of drive where the clouds hang low on the sky
Ready to plunge the world into fog
And the trees crowd in close on either side
And it feels like the whole world is nothing but a single direction
Black to both sides
Gray up and down
And forward is just pure white
I pretend you're standing there at the end of it all
Waving at me
In no particular rush for me to get there
And I'm in no rush to get there
Because we both know
I'll get there eventually
Just a time and place I am trying to recapture
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