Roll me back through western Europe, from the North Sea to the Alps again, your name on the dash still shining there, toll slips and the bruised-up windshield grin. Pull me in through the border lanes, let the miles go quiet behind us, I know the loud and fast gets old, but I still hear that road inside us. Roll me, roll me, let it take us back to where we started from, with your name on the dash and the wheel turning slow, not done, just spun.
