My Friends Testo

Testo My Friends

Well I’m not sure how many miles left on this old blue rusted van.
We pray, Betsy show us the coast like we know you can.
And we’ll instill the life and ideals we’ve dreamed.
Collect salt from the Atlantic coast, all the way to the Pacific sea

And I can’t count how many nights I’ve spent tired, exhausted, and alone.
Fueled by a dream of traveling home and the road.
It’s more than a choice, we’d never fit in 9 to 5,
Suits and ties negotiating for some corporation.
And I won’t forget these streets I’ve played on,
But we’ve got to make something of ourselves.

We’ll call wherever we are home.
And we might die trying to cross state lines but we’ll never regret it.

My friends have heavy hearts and cultured heads.
They know everything and anything.
And I swear one day we’ll all belong to regret, like salt to the ocean.