Late nights on the highway,
with the radio blasting and the windows rollled down,
peering up at stars, constellations,
with each a story, through the open sunroof.
We wont know where we're going,
but it wont matter anyways.
We'll have gummy worms and purple amp,
and thermos' of hot java for late night snacks.
Bags with t-shirts and eyeliner and underwear,
bare necessities, 'cause we can pick up the rest
on our way to where we're going.
We can stop and buy fries from Wendy's
and cheap sunglasses, and nasty postcards
from that sleazy gas station we'll pass.
We'll learn new tricks,
learn who we are,
we can fall in love
on the way to where we're going.
Las Vegas or Busch Gardens,
maybe Canada, maybe Mexico,
wherever we end up,
we'll always have the open road stretching out ahead,
inviting us to go back ouyt and hurry,
to remember, and
to get back on the way to where we're going.