Kings of Leon

The road in front of us falls away, The radio static becomes a wall we nod our heads to, And the car splutters along like cheap fireworks Again your eyes slide off the dash onto my hands Which are busy being nervous. In this silence it is impossible not to feel like an uninvited guest, All flesh, no voice. I reach to touch the speakers and this rope around us Snaps. After two hours, three dirt roads, and one discussion of what real rock music is, We still have an ocean in front of us Maybe April comes early this year Maybe winter decides to stay home Maybe my skin becomes a lighthouse Just maybe. You are the last shred of lightning that connects me to the storm.