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Did You Drive Lyrics
Was the air so hot
Was there an ocean of crackling ice
Your eyes
What got inside
Did you find the thought?
And did you get so wet
Were you in it nearly all of the time?
And did your blood run through you like orange juice
And did you find yourself bare
And did the clothes that you wore surround you like a cloud
And did you get the chance to float?
Was the air so hot
Did you look up and see light in the sky
And did you drive right through
Make a streak through every night
And did you feel the flow
Did you feel the flow?
Can you feel it still?
Did you bring some home? Did you go?
Did the people bump against you
And surround you like a cloud
And did you see right through?
And did you look into a mirror that was foggy with a crack
And did you find your same old self?
Was there an ocean of crackling ice
Your eyes
What got inside
Did you find the thought?
And did you get so wet
Were you in it nearly all of the time?
And did your blood run through you like orange juice
And did you find yourself bare
And did the clothes that you wore surround you like a cloud
And did you get the chance to float?
Was the air so hot
Did you look up and see light in the sky
And did you drive right through
Make a streak through every night
And did you feel the flow
Did you feel the flow?
Can you feel it still?
Did you bring some home? Did you go?
Did the people bump against you
And surround you like a cloud
And did you see right through?
And did you look into a mirror that was foggy with a crack
And did you find your same old self?
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A frenzied, coke-fueled, uninhibited night spent on the very top of the world, carrying out various disgusting, careless, and/or borderline irredeemable actions that all felt so great in the moment that you did some of them twice and all of them with a smile on your face. This is, of course, followed by a lonely, unbearably sober morning spent counting all of the brand-new reasons you now have to hate yourself, in case you were running short of them or didn't think it was possible for any more to exist. What's for breakfast? A healthy heaping hell of soul-crushing regret and heart-breaking guilt, accompanied by an irresistible urge to either finally kill yourself or to find more cocaine in a desperate attempt to blissfully ignore the obvious, slow, pathetic death of all your life's goals and dreams.
That's just off the top of my head though, not speaking from personal experience or anything.