Road sound, weighed down by the children
The passenger puzzle: Whatever fits goes
And there's so much time, so little freedom
Windscreen chip-cracking like four lines of prose
And we're driving to try and make sense of a circle
Hands to the wheel as the afternoon blows
And there's so much time, so little freedom
Weighed down by trying to feel like I'm holding
Something heavy and moving
Whatever it takes, I'm trying
Holding something, moving further
Oh, whatever, whatever, whatever

Whatever, whatever, whatever, whatever
Whatever, whatever, whatever, whatever
Whatever (free), whatever (free)
Whatever (free) it takes to be free
Whatever (free), whatever (free)
Whatever (free) it takes to be free
Whatever (free), whatever (free)
Whatever (free) it takes to be free