Fast Car

I was recently reminded of an old song. Thanks, Tracy Chapman, you're more than brilliant.

So i'll dance and be your sunflower
in mid winter and smile at you
as you watch me with those pretty eyes,
those pretty lies.
And later i'll meet you for a drink
and we'll sit and talk philosophy
to avoid the space between us.
And i'll tell you where i've been
and what i've become-
and you'll laugh and then
we'll become quiet,
as all lovers do.
And i'll intertwine our fingers,
my tiny palm in
your rough hands,
and we'll say we'll love forever
right on cue,
but we were always
the actors that never
quite fit the part,
always missing the margins
by a fraction,
chasing something that
didn't belong.
It's all for the ride,
don't you want to be someone?
but i dont know if i believe you-
no, I don't know if i believe me.
I remember
driving in your car,
speeding down the freeway
and closing my eyes
as if trust would suddenly fail me,
but it hasn't yet,
 I'm only a child.
What does hurt feel like?
And i remember
those nights I'd write poetry
in the dark-
because there was always more to say
when i couldn't see myself.
And I'd hide behind the language,
it was all too sophisticated,
we were all too planned.
And I won't know how to tell you that I
used to want to buy a big house and live in the suburbs,
and I used to want to go to the beach on the weekends
and find love in paradise.
But now I'll take a ticket to anywhere,
I'll unbuckle my seatbelt,
run my finger down the map,
down your spine.
Don't look back,
cross the freeway.
And you'll whisper,
Don't you want to belong?
And I do,
I always have,
so we'll keep on driving.