You say you're better off leading, because everytime I'm seeing the haze.
You say I'm better off believing, than wishing up the snows in May.
But look out your window. You've found your mountain. Call it what you may.
You've been wishing and you've been recieving, with little thought to little old me.
You say I'm tired and I'm broken, because I've been smoking my tires.
You say, with words like a heatwave, that I'm always starting the fires.
But open up the back door. You see the sunset blanketing the fading sky.
You've been crying and I've been replying with laying you down and kissing you goodnight.
You say that everyone is heated, and crushing all your hopes away.
You say that people are conceited, and everyone hates you today.
But look in the passenger seat, and you'll find me.