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Ezra Furman
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American Highway
She is pressing foot to pedal
She is zooming straight away
She is swimming in the jukebox
Of the screaming, driving day
She's about the age of Mary
When she had her wonderboy
She's an alcohol enthusiast
Whose dad is unemployed
She is wrapped around the steering wheel
She is focused on her goal
She is pulling out the vomit
From the bottom of my soul
I can't tell if I see sunshine
Or only the city's glow
I catch the wind in jelly jars
To listen to it blow
I'm so cautious I get nauseous
As my highway stretches out
My little pupils dilate
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In the shadow of a doubt
I see billboards, I see wagons
And I see she's gone to sleep
The gap to faith is tiny
But I can't begin to leap
We are sick and we are injured
Terrible and torn in half
We are driving, we are trading in
A whimper for a laugh
We are tuneless, we are toneless
Our speedometer sings
We are stained, we are Starbucks coffe
We are jacks and queens and kings
We have but one navigator
And a single one to drive
We are tending to pretend
We're at the endings of our lives
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