Pretty much, this is how I feel about my commute, my car, and the tires on the road, relaxed behind the wheel speeding east on I-80 in New Jersey on the way home.
But let me be more precise:
The tires are the things on your car
That make contact with the road
The car is the thing on the road
That takes you back to your abode
That make contact with the road
The car is the thing on the road
That takes you back to your abode
The tires are the things on your car
That make contact with the road
Bummed is what you are
When you go out to your car and it’s been towed
That make contact with the road
Bummed is what you are
When you go out to your car and it’s been towed
I woke up one morning in November
And I realized I love you
It’s not your headlights in front
Your tailpipe, or the skylight above you
It’s the way you cling to the road
When the wind tries to shove you
I’d never go riding away
And come back home without you
And I realized I love you
It’s not your headlights in front
Your tailpipe, or the skylight above you
It’s the way you cling to the road
When the wind tries to shove you
I’d never go riding away
And come back home without you
