Foot off the pedal and you’re gone.
Going where these tires take us.
We’re tired.
I was breathing.
The pane showed fingerprints,
Clouds were seeping,
I saw drawn faces in the fog.
Through eyes, moving mountains.
Yellow lines leading nowhere
But places we’ve never been.
We couldn’t be brought down.
Showing wear, these tires cartwheel.
They’re tired.
Barely breathing.
Down the dust in the mist.
Clowns were weeping
And you drew faces in the fog.
Through eyes, moving mountains.
Yellow lines leading nowhere
But places we’ve never been.
We couldn’t be brought down.
I’ve only been where I had to go to get here.
Over there a bus rolls.
In a smile I see the road.
I’ll never know where nowhere is.
this is your life chuck johnson 