Motor Head Boy

Intact I am math, but in a blast I run fast- somewhere above the tree line I am seen as fine, but inside I am tried. The weather doesn't help locate a song, so I hop on a motorcycle to get gone, I soon crash into a nearby tree, and lay on the ground for weeks. The sooner I come home- the lesser I learn how to grow, and its never anything but my last breathe of shine that I felt my teeth grind, gashing the enemy- the way of the blind, organic and prime, my weaknesses don't show, so I am fine. And while feeling fine, in an interesting wine, I smell the pine, it aches within me- raking at my earliest pillory- so I walk on pleased, get paid, and then go spend all my pees, with this withering game of time, I get hexed to know some of mine, but I soon stop, eager to drop, 1,2,3, and then four, four strips, one token, and two years unspoken, where I turn and spin in the door, a splendid welcome to adore! What shores have washed away from the pores! What course I have taken to learn how to adore! But there is a land I lived in alive- but it just wasn't my find, I was there, but it wasn't my mind... I wish I could scream! Feel mean! Go away unnoticed! Then re-arrive climbing in trees! Birds eat the bees, lizards the breeze, but character never breeds, its gotta be seen- understood, spoken and then dreamed, before you wake to it, just like she made ya do it, and you jerked yourself through it, started ta loosin' it, got loaded, and became a rude influence.