I've burned the night away before,
In my own home, in my own sheets
But there's something to be said
Of waking in a strange bed, strange
Sheets, freed to strange walls.
Driving in new roads with an old map, wary
Passing cars, fences, houses.
Some houses with people, some
Without. Bushes, trees, and bald lawns.
Silent commute to a fresh pillow
A rest to begin afresh, and lose some more time.