"Fast car" is kind of a continuation of Bruce Springsteen's "Born to Run." It has all the clawing your way to a better life, but in this case the protagonist never makes it with her love; in fact she is dragged back down by him.
There is still an amazing amount of hope and will in the lyrics; and the lyrics themselve rank and easy five. If only music was stronger it would be one of those great radio songs that you hear once a week 20 years after it was released. The imagery is almost tear-jerking ("City lights lay out before us", "Speeds so fast felt like I was drunk"), and the idea of starting from nothing and just driving and working and denigrating yourself for a chance at being just above poverty, then losing in the end is just painful and inspiring at the same time.
I might be dying sooner when I fight these nightly tumors/
I assume it�s likely to in times in spite my dicey psyche/
You know the drill, bite me. Screwdrivers to get me railed/
Until I�m hammered enough to fall asleep on beds of nails/
So take that hacksaw and saw this hack into a thousand pieces/
Put it in your mouth and teeth it, chew it �til it�s ground between �em/
Drain my blood and use it when you write a page/
Describe the taste and tell me if I�m truly worth the ground I sleep in/
It�s the semi-psychotic Henny and vodka mix/
With some Remy Martin and a medley of monster flicks/
I�m on a mission for the ending of all of this/
I�m contradictive, full of empty intoxicants/
I�m a desperate, desolate mess of skeletons/
Who second guesses questions, intentions when all the messages/
Mix and sections of skin are left dissecting your ribs, infected/
With pestilent hexes that exorcists fix, so check it/
I got two bad hands and still built this house of cards/
Just an average Jack up in the Club who thinks he found a Heart/
But I don�t go to clubs and don�t believe in love/
Or holding hearts in grips unless this fist is into which it�s bleeding from/
It�s bleeding from, it�s bleeding from, it�s bleeding from/
I look into the bleeding sun and whisper with my bleeding tongue/
All my poems are telling that the bleeding�s fun/
Until this carcass reaches heartless, telling me the bleeding�s done/
After birth, there�s just afterbirth/
And after that�s the aftermath and consequences/
�Cause after life there�s nothing that�s after death/
And after death there�s no afterlife/
And you�ll agree that eulogies and afterwords/
Are�words, after birth from aftershocks/
And afternoons of afterthoughts/
So after you, I�ll follow you to Acheron/
And after all, while you can�t just save yourself/
From this place in Hell I�ll say farewell until the sun decays/
With eyes open hoping nowhere nosy poachers dug our graves/
The silence is talking, walk-in, we�ve all been in coffins/
Hostage to cautious responses, solemn and lost in the nonsense/
Often I follow my conscience, bottle and swallow my problems/
Wallow in hollow with processes, toxic hostile menages/
It�s just another itchy finger that I know expects to pull it/
And I�m in the line of fire every time you�re sweating bullets/
Because�(these nights) it�s getting harder now to go to (sleep tight)/
When everything is haunting me�
Until I take my heart and squeeze it �til the bleeding stops/
(Speak to God), but I�d rather go and (reach the stars)/
So I could pluck one out the sky to navigate inside this shallow grave/
If I can�t find my way back home/
Know that I�m safe in these catacombs/
I stand alone in the window with the casket closed/
And latch to hold the stack of bones/
Yeah this ship is on the path I roam, but that�s just home/
I assume it�s likely to in times in spite my dicey psyche/
You know the drill, bite me. Screwdrivers to get me railed/
Until I�m hammered enough to fall asleep on beds of nails/
So take that hacksaw and saw this hack into a thousand pieces/
Put it in your mouth and teeth it, chew it �til it�s ground between �em/
Drain my blood and use it when you write a page/
Describe the taste and tell me if I�m truly worth the ground I sleep in/
It�s the semi-psychotic Henny and vodka mix/
With some Remy Martin and a medley of monster flicks/
I�m on a mission for the ending of all of this/
I�m contradictive, full of empty intoxicants/
I�m a desperate, desolate mess of skeletons/
Who second guesses questions, intentions when all the messages/
Mix and sections of skin are left dissecting your ribs, infected/
With pestilent hexes that exorcists fix, so check it/
I got two bad hands and still built this house of cards/
Just an average Jack up in the Club who thinks he found a Heart/
But I don�t go to clubs and don�t believe in love/
Or holding hearts in grips unless this fist is into which it�s bleeding from/
It�s bleeding from, it�s bleeding from, it�s bleeding from/
I look into the bleeding sun and whisper with my bleeding tongue/
All my poems are telling that the bleeding�s fun/
Until this carcass reaches heartless, telling me the bleeding�s done/
After birth, there�s just afterbirth/
And after that�s the aftermath and consequences/
�Cause after life there�s nothing that�s after death/
And after death there�s no afterlife/
And you�ll agree that eulogies and afterwords/
Are�words, after birth from aftershocks/
And afternoons of afterthoughts/
So after you, I�ll follow you to Acheron/
And after all, while you can�t just save yourself/
From this place in Hell I�ll say farewell until the sun decays/
With eyes open hoping nowhere nosy poachers dug our graves/
The silence is talking, walk-in, we�ve all been in coffins/
Hostage to cautious responses, solemn and lost in the nonsense/
Often I follow my conscience, bottle and swallow my problems/
Wallow in hollow with processes, toxic hostile menages/
It�s just another itchy finger that I know expects to pull it/
And I�m in the line of fire every time you�re sweating bullets/
Because�(these nights) it�s getting harder now to go to (sleep tight)/
When everything is haunting me�
Until I take my heart and squeeze it �til the bleeding stops/
(Speak to God), but I�d rather go and (reach the stars)/
So I could pluck one out the sky to navigate inside this shallow grave/
If I can�t find my way back home/
Know that I�m safe in these catacombs/
I stand alone in the window with the casket closed/
And latch to hold the stack of bones/
Yeah this ship is on the path I roam, but that�s just home/
Lyrics submitted by thousandscars
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Fast Car
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"Take me back to the night we met:When the night was full of terrors: And your eyes were filled with tears: When you had not touched me yet"
So, the first night was not a great start, but the narrator pursued the relationship and eventually both overcame the rough start to fall in love with each other:
"I had all and then most of you"
Like many relationships that turn sour, it was not a quick decline, but a gradual one where the narrator and their partner fall out of love and gradually grow apart
"Some and now none of you"
Losing someone who was once everything in your world, who you could confide in, tell your secrets to, share all the most intimate parts of your life, to being strangers with that person is probably one of the most painful experiences a person can go through. So Painful, the narrator wants to go back in time and tell himself to not even pursue the relationship.
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Captures the rollercoaster of emotions of feeling lost while loving someone who is not there for you, feeling let down and abandoned while waiting for a lover. Lost with no direction, "Now I'm up in the air with the rain in my hair, Nowhere to go, I can go anywhere"
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Amazing
Ed Sheeran
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Ed Sheeran tells a story of unsuccessfully trying to feel “Amazing.” This track is about the being weighed down by emotional stress despite valiant attempts to find some positivity in the situation. This track was written by Ed Sheeran from the perspective of his friend. From the track, we see this person fall deeper into the negative thoughts and slide further down the path of mental torment with every lyric.