Lyric

White lines flashing on the street

Guardrails bending in the dark

Two hands steady on the wheel

Forty centimeters space

Folded jacket on the bench

Cold green light upon the glass

Moon keeps up through all the trees

Three hundred eighty four thousand

Out the glass the static burns

High above the silver sky

It follows us without a sound

Forty centimeters here

Dashboard light upon your hands

We never reach where we go

Engine humming in the frame

Red tail lights ahead turn dim

Dial needle pressing right

Cold air blowing through the vents

Same space left across the seat

Moon still hanging in the frame

Faster now but nothing moves

Three hundred eighty four thousand

Out the glass the static burns

High above the silver sky

It follows us without a sound

Forty centimeters here

Dashboard light upon your hands

The road goes on in the dark