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One laydown machine burned a road, right through the prairie, stream of =boiling ash painted up with perfect lines, discount labor packing each =lane, bargain basement homes sewn to the road, slipshod directions do =not explain. I got these shoes for nothing and they have lasted me =forever, searching up and down the lost highway. I can read the grid, I =have memorized the key, counting every inch from C-4 to J-3, I can think =in scale 'cause I know it ain't on my map, scraping off the typeset, dig =into the atlas. Well they can paint it up, make it appear to go =somewhere, well they can paint it up, but I know where it doesn't lead.
Submitted by: Mel
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