The night raced by. We were flying on the road.
It was well past one, and the conversation’d flowed
for many hours through the sours of the whiskeyest kind
‘til we’d sobered up enough to hit the tarmac half blind.
We-were rolling through South Brooklyn and the streets were pretty clear
with enough dutch courage so we were devoid from fear.
We had no destination; just a couple crazy kids
riding New York highways - fast enough to skip the skids.

All the while we’re talking, laughing... no place to go.
I asked her where we’re driving; she claimed she didn’t know.
I had no complaints; it felt quite fine with me.
Courting death with Courtney was the best fate I’d foresee.
The road and all its mysteries were all we needed now.
That, and the other’s company, would get us through somehow.
Ride van Wyck in darkness, heading to the North.
Then head East to parts unknown, blindly going forth.

There’s no romance on the L I E.
That’s the lie, is it not?
Nah, I just can’t see it.

Eastward we kept traveling, at speeds I’d never seen.
How she kept the Civic goin’, you wouldn’t be believin’.
We passed North Hills before I knew it. Soon, then, Jericho.
At some point I began to want to let my Whiskey Sours flow.
But Courtney was controlled. She held her liquor well.
Her eye maintained a gleam of demonic, hellish thrill.
Perhaps she had a purpose that she had never shared
because while I’d have gladly stopped it’s clear she didn’t care.

There is no romance on the L I E.
That’s the lie, is it not?
No, I just couldn’t see it.

The ‘Spressway flew beneath us; I could barely see it go.
Melville, Dix Hills, then that one eleven road,
it all passed by without us making single stop.
I’m simply amazed that we didn’t see a cop,
but maybe they just knew not to bother with that girl
who was on her fury road, driving in her own world.
We started off this voyage, driving out together
but I was ‘fraid this endless highway would go on forever.

There is no romance on the L I E.
That’s the lie, is it not?
No, I just couldn’t see it.

Out in Farmingville, we got off the freeway.
She tapped the break at some light. I took the chance to pray.
We reached a hospital with visiting hours long past through
but she just her pushed her way in where I got to see a view
of Courtney with her sister - or some other young thing
whom she didn’t wake - she kept the distance of the whole wing.
“She looks OK?” she asked me, and I said, “Sure.”
She nodded in a moment, said, “Let’s get out of here.”

Our drive back home was slower, neither maniac nor mad
and guessing where we’d been, it was just little sad
but we didn’t talk about it, or really very much.
Just how drunk we had been, the cost of tea, and such.
By the time we reached Manhattan it was three quarters to four
and I asked if Courtney wanted company or something more
but she had had enough of me for the night, she said
which was a shame; I can give some adequate head.

There is no romance on the L I E.
That’s the lie, is it not?
No, I just can’t see it.