| Riding through nostalgia, shaking memories by the mile | |
| The city lights are closing in on him | |
| The distance grows shorter for a while | |
| He wonders what dreams fill her heart | |
| And wonders if what they had could ever be sparked | |
| 'the roads never lead where they're supposed to go' | |
| That's what he tells himself before he lets it go | |
| Out on the cold grey plain, sunken on the side of the road | |
| The words bleed off the page, the letter becomes well-soaked | |
| 'no more turning backwards,' he says, as he drives off in the rain | |
| Ventures on up through the colorades and settles under the rock | |
| And pines, and stakes claim | |
| Still he wonders what what dreams fill her heart | |
| And wonders if what they had could ever be sparked | |
| The roads never lead where they're supposed to go | |
| They just twist 'round and 'round the flame | |
| The eyes closing, the heart retains | |
| A bit of a spark before it fades away | |
| That's where he gets lost and drifts off alone | |
| And what he tells himself... 'better let it go' |
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