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