Running on Fumes

Time flies by

The left I took was wrong

The nights are mine, scanning the radio

In hopes I can find the right song

If the mountains turn right

And end up in my rearview mirror

Oh, where to set my sights?

The road, or these objects larger than they appear?

And as luck prevents me from a head on crash

Before my spiked heartbeat slows

My thoughts downshift

I have no change for the oncoming tolls.

A busy mind must drive

If one can’t do, he must go

And if nobody wants him, he must drive

For there is plenty of road.

She used to be out here with me

But she lives near where I started

And I had to drop her off because

The windows are broke and she farted.