[Originally performed by The Beatles]
Two of us riding nowhere,
Spending someone's hard earned day.
You and me Sunday driving,
Not arriving on our way home.
Here on our way home,
Here on our way home,
We're going home.
Two of us sending postcards,
Writing letters on my wall.
You and me burning matehes,
Litting latches on our way back home.
Here on our way home,
Here on our way home,
We're going home.
You and I have memories
Longer than the road,
That stretches out ahead.
Two of us wearing raincoats,
Standing solo in the sun.
You and me closing paper,
Getting nowhere on our way back home.
Here on our way home,
Here on our way home.
We're going home.
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