Interstate-Four
long lines of lights lining up and lighting up
the midnight asphalt that drives me
in shear exileration I accelerate
jocking for position like in a steeple chase
blurring images of lost faces
as I pass you by on my 8 cylinder high
wind whipping around no cop to be found
pushing the limit to warp speed
to fulfill my urges and needs
giving away to all my lust
caked on with highway dust
rolling thunder tway to quick to ever rust
as I turn it on filled with lust
high volt energy pulsing through
pounding faster than my heart
leaving you behind from the very start
better luck next time
hear them wind chimes
that's the sound of my sonic boom burying you in smoke
your ride is so pathetic what a joke
Copyright © Malcolm Dyer | Year Posted 2007
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