Description
Sometimes dreams don't look like a villa by the sea, but like a bicycle with a shiny frame and perfectly inflated tyres. I wish I could just get on, ride off and never walk again, especially on this endless road between ‘almost there’ and ‘okay, later’. Until success comes around, all that remains is to pedal on rented hope, catch the headwind and believe that around the bend there will definitely be your own asphalt made of gold.
Or maybe this is what real rock is all about - riding, wobbling, without brakes, laughing in defiance of the roadside.
Lyrics and translation
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