Russian Hill

I dreamt about a tranquil Sunday drive
sensory lullaby
We trade [bad word]  cartoons, and magazines
For pistons and gasoline

We see the road from the bedside
Parked under the sunshine
We feel the warmth of the engine so we climb inside
And take it to the motorway

Watch the clouds turn into faces it's fun to play
Shift the gears for years and age a single day
Until we spill [bad word] Hill

Past cathedrals filled with God's favorite guests
Dirty hands feel clean when dressed in their Sunday best
Treeline village oh so heavenly
Cross a bridge of gold to landscapes of juniper

Only Eden is for millionaires

Watch the clouds turn into faces its fun to play
Shift the gears for years and age a single day
Until we spill [bad word] Hill

I'm pulling through the last stoplight
We head home past the shoreline
And through the rear view mirror it all melts away
'Til we're helpless

Watch the clouds turn into faces its fun to play
(We're hopeless)
We shift the gears for years and age a single day
(It fades away)
For like curtains close this sunset matinee
dream fulfilled [bad word] Hill      
/fx