The neighborhood is pretty quiet for a weekday.
The same one way to work almost everyday.
Pass by the high school,
A memory rerun
When I was seventeen couldn't wait for twenty-one.
I pass by the church
Where I married you
When you were twenty-one and I was twenty-two.
A stop sign,
A chance to clear my mind before the workday.
Then a right turn
Is where I catch another glimpse of the highway.
So I speed pass the building,
I always wanted to
Since I was twenty-one, almost twenty-two.
If I'd had the nerve,
I'd have quit there before
You turned twenty-three and couldn't take me anymore.
The well known
Sits in a cloud of dust of on this weekday.
My cell phone
Is in about a million pieces on the highway.
Speed down the highway,
Rack up the miles.
One hundred twenty-one, a hundred twenty-two.
Roll down the window,
Roll out the miles.
One hundred twenty-three, a hundred twenty-four.
And straight down the highway,
The road offers no guarantees.
(One thousand twenty-one, one thousand twenty-two.)
Drive through the morning, drive into the sun,
And I'm free.
(One thousand twenty-three, one thousand twenty-four).