Tires roll, open road,
you know I have to always go.
In my dreams I'm still driving west
from Boston towards an emptiness,
a half-formed desire made of pure distance
Thought I'd know, know by now,
the road will only turn you around;
the destination towards which you slowly tend,
it's just the core of wanting, it leads back again.
If I were clever like you, I'd have figured it out by now
So I'm stuck in a car that's stuck in my head,
'cause I can't drive, might as well be dead,
and I turn circles in the dust with my thumbs
wondering when the hell transfiguration's gonna come.
but I don't change 'cause I can't move
any closer to the things that I'm wanting to,
though Desire's just the distance that I've built between here
and the hole in the map were the roads disappear.
must be something precious inside that unknown, so
let the tires roll, let the tires roll.