I see their faces like a blur on the window of this car.
They stay in these towns we visit before hitting the highway again,
with gas in the tank for a thousand more miles.
Memories the souvenirs that clutter the dashboard.
Guitars keep strumming through the speakers,
As faceless voices sing melodies of broken souls and forgotten lives
Held together by soft piano and sad words
That play above the rumbling of an aging engine.
As rain pelts against the windshield again and again,
Leaving the world a hazy sight only seen by headlights.
The sun lost the battle against grey clouds and a howling moon,
Tomorrow it shall continue the war.
And who knows, maybe it will win.
Maybe then the sun can end the rain,
Maybe then it will shine through the night and quiet those melodies.
Maybe then it can slow down the blurring strangers and exchange souvenirs for friends.
Maybe then can that aging engine rest and maybe then can this car find a permanent town.
Maybe tomorrow the war will end.
But the trouble is: tomorrow never comes.