Driving down the freeway.
Should of took a back road.
The cops are looking for us.
They're gaining closer.
We hope we don't look suspicious in our gear.
Our facades taken off in the back-seat.
No more balaclava.
Just his green eyes egging me on.
He sees mine.
He says he likes my shade of baby blue.
His favourite colour,
Baby blue.
We bite our tongues.
Even though we want to sing aloud.
We can't celebrate now.
The sirens are loud.
The cops are behind us.
Waiting for us to pull over.
But we don't.
I swerve us through cars.
I'm pretty skilled at avoidance.
But they're on our tail.
They smell us.
We are rats running away from the trap.
Nothing can stop us.
Not even a road block.
