Racing with the forces trying to keep ahead;
Missed some turns a while ago going straight instead.
The ghosts are out there watching shooting balls of fire;
I can see them as I’m passing singing like a choir.
The crock is shedding tears but its laughing liker a clown
Its face is in the windshield and I’m trying to run it down.
Don’t know much about a mother but life sure qualifies;
And you can keep those one room boxes down here in these mires.
Can’t imagine dropping anchor but sometimes I’ve slowed down;
Mostly when locked in loves embrace and listening for that sound.
Ahead I think I see it, an up and coming light
But it’s probably just the daylight that passes out the night