We're in an old car,
We're driving real far,
There's no one awake but you and me.
We're going down town,
Behind the playground,
where the dream ramp breaks free.
If you do it the right way,
The lines on the highway,
Go from yellow to solid white
And then the street lights,
Get bright,
It just looks so nice.
There's only two lanes,
But there's lots of trains,
And things just smell clean,
Because there's no stores,
like this around anymore,
And everything feels so green
Browsing the night past,
I don't want to ask,
What lies beyond those lines
The landscape's immaculate,
and the signs are back lit,
Up and down the old turnpike
For a short time,
It was nineteen sixty-nine,
But now it's fuel replenishing time.
So we're going back downtown,
Behind the playground,
where the dream ramp unwinds.
If you do it the right way,
The lights on the highway,
go from white to reddish gold.
And now we're back home,
Back to the brimstone,
And it all just feels so old.