We'll miss the exit home to watch a few more street signs pass by together and we can tell our parents we got lost, then aim the car straight for the edge of this cliff and we'll laugh about our skid marks like we used to when we were kids. On our way back home, falling at 300 miles an hour, we're careless, we're weightless and we'll never hit the pavement. We can just fly into the sunset and drive through this orange horizon. We will build our house in the clouds, skin vs. skin, shivering is so underrated. Evaporate and we'll breathe each other in, be the other's breath so if we fall... piece by piece by piece we can scrape our battered hearts from the ground. Duct tape and holding close will stitch the holes. On our way back home, falling at 300 miles an hour, we're careless, we're weightless and we'll never hit the pavement. We can just fly into the sunset and drive through this orange horizon. And you'll say, "Everything is okay, why worry about tomorrow, when today hasn't come and gone?" A wasted breath costs too much when all we know is time. "Today was perfect, it was like falling for you all over again." (cause you know I mean everything that I say) So, let's drive. Hold my hand until the tank runs dry