Driving Home on East Avenue

Driving Home on East Avenue

I am jealous of the boy on the stereo
For he can play better than I and as he plays
I think that if dying had a song
His sweet piano music would be it
And I am too tired to drive.
So you take my wheel instead of me
But there is a warm breeze as I sleep
And the ride is smoother than ever before.

One wrong flick of your hands as you grow tired and
I already can see the glass shards slowly flying
Closer and closer to me as his piano plays.
It would be a death fit for a silver screen.

I wish I had thought of his words first
And maybe someday I will compose like him.
It has been eighteen years only so far
But all I have learned is that everything is always over;
This car ride, this music, even this warm wind.

The only thing that I found will never end
Is the feeling of being aware of dying
And as you driving me home on this summer night
While sad keys are being slowly pressed into my ears
It makes this feeling stronger than ever before.

It was long ago, before this night that I decided that I loved you
But right now love isn’t something I really want,
I just want this to never be over.