High Valley - I Be U Be Lyrics
Lyrics
Bucket seats, bucket lists
Eagles on the radio, girl watch this
Two young kids hot on the heels of a dream
Fire and dust under tires and rust
Long way to freedom baby, look at us
Two young kids, hot on the on the heels of a dream
Let's put that boot to the pedal, aw, that pedal to the metal
We ain't gotta settle for the same old sames
It's called leaving for a reason, mistakes are made for making
We don't know which hell we go
Roads we've never taken
Two lanes and two doors
Tennessee miracle, thank the lord
Should I be staring at you or this big blue-eyed sky
Gods paintbrush, your hair in the wind, dirt road heaven, I'm living in
I'll do the driving baby, you can drive me wild
Let's put that boot to the pedal, , that pedal to the metal
We
It's called for a reason, mistakes were made for making
We know which hell we go
Roads never taken
Motel sex, paying cash
Mountain Dew and map co gas
Burnin' bread just county lines
Ain't no tellin' what we gonna find
Let's put that boot to the pedal, , that pedal to the metal
We
It's called for a reason, mistakes were made for making
We know which hell we go
Roads never taken
Video
High Valley - I Be U Be (Official Music Video)
Meaning & Inspiration
"It's called leaving for a reason, mistakes are made for making."
I’ve spent a lifetime trying to outrun the echoes of the choices I made when I was convinced I was the smartest person in the room. High Valley sings it like it’s a victory lap—the wind in your hair, the gas tank half-full, the freedom to just burn daylight and burn bridges. But listening to this, I don't hear a anthem for the open road. I hear the sound of someone who hasn't realized yet that the engine is going to quit.
See, I know that "leaving" feeling. I know the grit of dirt-road heaven, or at least, the version of it you build when you’re trying to build a world where you don’t have to answer to a Father. I remember the smell of cheap motels and the frantic, hollow speed of trying to find something—anything—that fills the space where my integrity used to be. You think you’re chasing dreams; you’re actually just running from the stillness.
When they sing about "mistakes are made for making," it hits a nerve. It’s a convenient lie, isn't it? It frames the wreckage of a life as just some necessary scenery. But Romans 6:21 asks, "What benefit did you reap at that time from the things you are now ashamed of? Those things result in death." I didn’t know it then, but every mile I put between me and home wasn't leading to freedom. It was leading to a pig pen.
There’s this line, "Tennessee miracle, thank the lord." It’s tossed off so casually. It makes me wonder what they actually think a miracle looks like. When I was out there, living on the margins, a miracle would have been the lights of the porch appearing when I finally ran out of gas. A miracle isn't a beautiful view or a girl with wind-blown hair. A miracle is the moment your pride finally snaps, and you realize you aren't the driver of your own life—you’re just a passenger heading for a ditch.
I’m sitting here now, and I can still smell the smoke on my jacket. I didn't come back with a suitcase full of gold or a clean conscience. I came back because the road ended, and it didn't look like heaven; it looked like total failure.
Maybe that’s the real "roads never taken." Maybe the road that actually matters is the one that leads back to the table you walked away from. It’s hard to reconcile the joy they’re singing about with the hollow feeling I get in my chest when I hear it. I want to tell them that the pedal to the metal only gets you to the end of your rope faster. But maybe they aren't there yet. Maybe, like me, they need to run until there’s nothing left to run on before they finally look up.