We drove east. Roads sent us up winding pathways, and black ice lined every twist. Some were cautious, other were confident. It reminded me of the first time I ever drove through a storm. My best friend on my right, creating songs in his head before he spoke it into a microphone. And the words came to me again, in complete connection to the past and the present. One in the same.
Times are getting strange
Crossing paths without chains
The days are getting shorter
And the ships roll out in waves