When the stoplight goes red, the sun turns hotter.
The gasoline smells of decay. Makes me sweaty and carsick-
Too many lost highways and screaming-white billboards for peace.
If I wore sunglasses, it might seem like a synthetic heaven here-
Dark and quiet, roads of snow, mild scent of rust-
As it is, these restless static colors fray themselves to death;
I wish double-yellow lines looked more romantic.
The gasoline smells of decay. Makes me sweaty and carsick-
Too many lost highways and screaming-white billboards for peace.
If I wore sunglasses, it might seem like a synthetic heaven here-
Dark and quiet, roads of snow, mild scent of rust-
As it is, these restless static colors fray themselves to death;
I wish double-yellow lines looked more romantic.