You call me “scared little girl.” That might be true.
But here’s some things I know about you:
you’re a boy with a car who can play the guitar,
got a head full of dreams to be a rock and roll star.
You wanna drive through the night, give it our best.
See how we're cursed, see how we’re blessed.
I’m thinking it over in my bedroom mirror.
I’m alone with my face, facing fear.
I hear your car in the driveway. I come down the stairs.
Dad’s watching TV in his easy chair.
He looks up from the set as I reach for the door,
says “Mary, you know that you’re meant for more.
He’s just another boy with a 4-4-2
who will say anything just to be with you.
Don’t waste yourself on the promises he’ll break.
Mary, send him away.”
But I’ve got dreams of breakin’ through.
An open road, we share the drivin’
Tradin’ songs, I feel alive, I’m running, too.
Should I run with you?
I open the door and take in the night.
I get a look at your face in the streetlight.
Roy Orbison sings, and I make up my mind
to trade wheels for wings and leave this town behind.
Let's drive through the night, give it our best,
reach the Promised Land on the other side of the wilderness.
I cross the porch, head full of plans.
Wind catches my dress. Screen door slams.