Woorden: Protest The Hero. Moonlight.

Yawn awake
Familiar surroundings
All hotel rooms are pretty much the same,
Although the room number might change
Catch a glimpse of everything within the lighter's flame
There's always a window and so changes the view
Affording a clue to the answer that's owing
Where we might be and where we might be going
There's no fixed address but the band, white as a suburb,
Catch a reflection it's going knots as we're headed in any direction
So press your head against the window, look outside at emptiness
Tell a joke, or take a piss
Take a picture at every mile
Lock the door and start the engine cause it's gonna be a while
Tell a joke, take a piss
Take a picture at every mile
Start the van, close the door, Quince I think it's gonna be a while
The climates flay themselves, undress themselves at the side of the road
Commute at the union between failure and hope
We're at the highway line, we just started on the land
Twist and turn, and tell a story like the palm of your hand
Buckle up and wonder, keep watching the skies
Pucker up and flounder in the blink of an eye
The climates flay themselves, undress themselves at the side of the road
Commute at the union between failure and hope
Turn our weakness into
Turn our blindness into
Turn our questions into answers as obvious
Turn our weakness into might
Turn our blindness into sight
Turn our questions into answers just as obvious
As moonlight in the darkest, darkest night