Lyrics:

You've been feeling like an axle

On a car that you don't trust

You no longer want the journey

But you tell yourself you must

You plug it in to find the reason you do it for

'Till the strings start scraping

Sounds are shaping

Sending out their chill

Until the air is shaking

And the movement's making

Lines blur at their will

Everything is still

Fredericksburg's not too far away

Heading down I-95

Yeah, but Sundays got you crawling

Slow enough to check your pulse

Time zones stop the phone calls

You know (too well) how that feels

Waitress with 'too much' eye makeup

Brings you your eight-buck meal

You could almost bet

The air's so wet you'd swear

It oughta spill

Flies buzz 'round the streetlights

You've got nothing but time to kill

Everything is still