|
We have roads, we like to drive alone |
|
Ignoring the shortcuts that our parents taught us |
|
Hummed, I hummed, slightly out of key |
|
Through cornfields that let the pavement sing right back |
|
Searching for a nod from above |
|
But staring at the crowd is just enough |
|
The places my mind runs around |
|
Without you there to tie it down |
|
It started in Ann Arbor, Michigan |
|
And led to the grey hairs that your fingers comb through |
|
Even strangers are asking you |
|
What the hell is wrong with him? Whoa, searching for a nod from above |
|
But staring at the ground is just enough |
|
The places my mind runs around |
|
Without you there to tie it down |
|
It started in Ann Arbor Michigan |
|
And led to the grey hairs that your fingers comb through |
|
Searching for a nod from above |
|
But staring at the ground is just enough |
|
The places my mind runs around |
|
Without you there to tie it down |
