Travelling is just like swimming. You got your feet off the ground, Crumbling motion, Your limbs go floating, Free from the worries you've been carrying In your shoulders. Your heart goes fishing, Those promises of love, On the road.
My heart belongs to the wilderness, The skies still red like a never-ending song. As long as there is the ocean for me to look upon, I'll cross it once, twice, back and forth, until the sun sets and the…
Doesn't it mean the same thing? Your heart, my heart. Don't they beat the same way? Your skin, my skin. Touch it. Touch me. Do it again. Doesn't it feel exactly the same?