Driving through the known streets of home.
The breeze, nice and gentle,
Brushes against my hand
As I play with it.
The moon hangs in the corner,
Lopsided,
Like a picture.
My mind wanders off into the night.
Driving through the known streets of home.
The breeze, nice and gentle,
Brushes against my hand
As I play with it.
The moon hangs in the corner,
Lopsided,
Like a picture.
My mind wanders off into the night.
