Lyrics
I dreamt about a tranquil Sunday drive,
A sensory lullaby
We trade the comics, cartoons, and magazines
For pistons and gasoline
We see the road from the bedside
Parked under the sunshine,
We feel the warmth of the engine
So we climb inside
And take it to the motorway.
Watch the clouds turn into faces it's fun to play,
Shift the gears for years and age a single day
Until we spill
Onto Russian hill.
Past cathedrals filled with god's favourite guests,
Dirty hands feel clean
When dressed in their Sunday best
Treeline villages, oh so heavenly,
Cross a bridge of gold
To landscapes Of juniper,
Only Eden is for millionaires.
Watch the clouds turn into faces it's fun to play,
Shift the gears for years and age a single day
Until we spill
Onto russian hill.
