That make contact with the road
The car is the thing on the road
That takes you back to your abode
The tires are the things on your car
That make contact with the road
Bummed is what you are
When you go out to your car and its been towed
I woke up one morning in november
And I realized I love you
Its not your headlights in front
Your tailpipe, or the skylight above you
Its the way you cling to the road
When the wind tries to shove you
Id never go riding away
And come back home without you