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The mile markers tell me it's pedal for petal, as my foot hit's the gas and your flowers hit the floor. The words from my mouth form a journal on my dashboard. I'm trying my best to save the phrase of, "we'll cross that bridge when we get there." I'll try to get us there. If I had it my way I'd be stuck in this place. Our bodies would keep us warm. To kiss and tell it's as if paris fell and I'm fighting electric blankets. With my hands on the wheel I'll drive off this cliff I've been hanging on, to find out if you're all right. Two hopeless romantics never kissed with their eyes closed to tight. One headlight exposed the wreck and there appears to be a tragedy down lovers lane. At least the seat belt wrapped around your neck finally kept your head on straight.