• Our eyes met over the steering wheel,
    I thought I could three point turn you around,
    Yet the beaten engine rumbles on still,
    The wrong gear makes a bitter sound.

    I'd parallel park right up to your door,
    And watch you in the rear view mirror,
    With the accelerator I'd hit the floor,
    With the horn I'd ask you out to dinner.

    I wish life could make an emergency stop,
    And the traffic lights could all turn to red,
    But this machine is too loved to knock,
    Even though I'd rather take you home instead.

    Roundabout of love, I'm in the wrong lane,
    The indicators are pointing the other way,
    As the breaks squeal "Who is to blame?"
    I reverse with nothing left to say,
    Yeah I reverse with nothing left to say.