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Porcupine Tree
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The Incident
At junction 8, the traffic starts to slow
Artilleries of braking lights and bluish glow
Ascending in a plumage of twisted steel
Shattered glass and confetti dashed upon the wheel
When a car crash gets you off, you've lost your grip
When a fuck is not enough, you know you've slipped
When the church is full, it means you've just been had
When the world has gone to seed, you're so detached
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Got a feeling that I want you to be there
Driving by on my way to somewhere else
I fill my lungs with a noxious burning smell
There is weed and gray concrete like this for miles
Dead souls in my rear view mirror hitch a ride a while
I want to be loved
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