When you're in the car, driving home or in the passenger seat, And it's 3am, pitch-black skies Tinged with the purple-ish glow of light pollution, That's who we are in this moment. The way the car glides over the motorway, So smooth it's almost motionless, And the engine sounds are so constant That they become as soothing as a lullaby. How the raindrops batter the car before fading, Leaving their liquid exoskeletons clinging onto the windows, And it feels like home, Because this is where we leave our hearts. I looked out of the window towards the open road, And the rain makes the view slightly blurry. It's the way the lights shine and glimmer across the road In reds, whites and yellows, that's where we reside. We're the blurred images of each other, Clumsily reached for on nights that are pitch-black Save for the pollution in our souls.