Beck - The Golden Age

Put your hands on the wheel,
Let the golden age begin,
Let the window down,
Feel the moonlight on your skin,
Let the desert wind
Cool your aching head,
Let the weight of the world
Drift away instead.

These day I barely get by,
I don't even try.

It's a treacherous road
With a desolated view,
There's distant lights,
But here they're far and few,
And the sun don't shine
Even when it's day,
You gotta drive all night
Just to feel like you're okay.

These day I barely get by,
I don't even try.