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.