Written by Ben Balmer (BMI)
This road is long, but my tires have traction,
just smile in my rearview, just to get a reaction,
there's no hope in sorrow, so why do i feel like there is,
Puttin miles between us, so i can forget her,
but my car smells just like her, like a half-wrote love letter,
not finished or signed, sweet words crushed, and thrown on the floor.
Well we said we were done, said there'd be no more seein,
but she stayed every night, despite our agreement,
suppose i'm a fool for thinking this wouldn't be tough,
i just wish that i'd known it'd be the last time we'd ever make love.
Now the nights seem longer, i'm longing to hold her,
had a dream about touching that tattoo on her shoulder,
i can't help but wonder, if she dreams about me at all.
But thinkin' like that that'll get me nowhere,
just lead to another night, of grief and dispair,
we never did work, but how quickly i seem to forget.
These roads look the same, but there's comfort in that,
things simple and strong tend to keep me on track,
there's no drama in gravel, no heartbreak in rubber or steal.
but my eyes keep wandering o'er to the west,
i still can't tell the difference, tween relief and regret,
there's no honor in running, so i guess that's why i'm in this car.
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