Backseat Driver

I still get lost

Walking down my street

In the night

I don't want to speak

To you, though, my tongue loves your name

But these days, it all sounds the same

I'm not good

I'm not even close

Can't compute

Without my daily dose

Of you, your bruised knuckles and arms

I can't explain why I think so much

And every morning, I feel a warning

That this isn't where I should be

My hands are stained with the colour of your name

And I'm sick of getting swept off my feet

Calm me down

I get so riled up

Tie me down

So when I get up

I don't have to see where I'm going all the time

But sometimes it's nice not to be so blind

And every morning, I feel a warning

That this isn't where I should be

My hands are stained with the colour of your name

And I'm sick of getting swept off my feet

But I don't mind, you're only a part-time deadbeat

Listening out to whatever you yell from the backseat

And I know that you'll never admit defeat

But I won't mind if you still walk me down my street in the night

You're only a part-time deadbeat

And I'm still afraid of my heartbeat