Ride (Instrumental) – All music rights reserved by Lana Del Rey

My home is a graveyard in the heart of

the suburbs and we are buried in between the numbered houses

and the perfectly cut grass-sheets. It is so domestic, these picket fenced streets feel as if they are closing in on me, and I am

trapped because there is nothing domestic about me. I’ve prayed

to God, begging to stay young, free, and unaware. But the Lord’s prayer is beautiful and unfair and my cries were denied. Still, we survive by

getting high, can you blame us if we were raised with this

state of mind? We were never told it was wrong. We sing songs and

dance until dawn, we are suburban and we only play along because

we like to get noisy. We are chaotic, crazed, and flighty. Reckless, raving,

and unruly. We are suffocating and we are driven by the insane. The freeway

has become our getaway, an escape for all the runaways, a mirage of light

and sound and colour. My bones are raw and weak but the freeway speaks

to me: you are alive, you are alive. But still, I understand that, one day

we will all be dead and I will die lost, sloppy, and dirty if I am

buried, but shall I burn, my ashes should scatter all over

the city – I will be free to hate and

free to love.

Can you say the same about yourself? We came from suburbia and

all we want is euphoria, we just want

to be fucking


I can barely recognize myself,

I’m trash, baby.