I dreamt about a tranquil sunday drive,
A sensory lullaby
We trade the comics, 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 onto russian hill
Past cathedrals filled with god's favourite 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, it's fun to play
Shift the gears for years and age a single day
Until we spill onto russian hill
Inst
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, it's fun to play
Shift the gears for years and age a single day
For like curtains close this sunset matinee
A dream fulfilled on russian hill
