Oh, how I wished I could have been driving Straight to you, on the long highway On those lonely, dark nights after closing time. But you held my hand With your voice: A whispered choice—you don't need to stop At those old haunts, not even in the snow. And somehow I believed, as I sped Past them—a blurred isolation— That I could sprinkle neon stars across The purple twilight in your backyard Off the Avenue.