I am driving up 85 in the kind of morning that lasts all afternoon, just stuck inside the gloom. Four more exits to my apartment but I am tempted to keep the car in drive and leave it all behind. ‘Cause I wonder sometimes about the outcome of a still verdictless life. I rent a room and I fill the spaces with wood in places to make it feel like home, but all I feel’s alone. It might be a quarter life crisis or just the stirring in my soul.
So what, so I’ve got a smile on, but it’s hiding the quiet superstitions in my head. Don’t believe me. Don’t believe me when I say I’ve got it down. Everybody is just a stranger but that’s the danger in going my own way. I guess it’s the price I have to pay. Still “everything happens for a reason”.