Why did you have to be a vagabond that I fell in love with. Why couldn't you be a nice suburban woman, who would smile and stay with me instead of running off to backpack across Europe or South America.
The flashing lights and passing streetlamps emit a dim glow, as the wheels of the taxi keep spinning, taking me further and further from you.
But I can see your face in the shadows of the passing dim lights, and the cord of yarn that ties me to you won't let go, no matter how far the taxi's wheels spin.