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Description
A dusty unfrequented road,
one of few travelers but myself,
for I have no Peter to be my rock,
too much time on my clock,
and no direction to take,
for the fork in my road,
goes many ways.

Glaring down an endless highway,
wondering what's at the end,
or if my car will run out of gas,
before I reach a station,
so I ration,
in a lonely fashion,
till the end of days.

Now I found my destination,
nowhere,
an endless journey of impossible impossibilities,
redundancy and monotonosity becomes me,
as the wheel burns away the skin of my hands,
and it turns slowly under my control,
and I find myself lost.

If only I had a map,
and each road wasn't rigged as a trap,
for each one has it's ups and downs,
with many abandoned towns,
the dust blows on past my feet,
and I stand waiting now.

Description
A dusty unfrequented road,
one of few travelers but myself,
for I have no Peter to be my rock,
too much time on my clock,
and no direction to take,
for the fork in my road,
goes many ways.

Glaring down an endless highway,
wondering what's at the end,
or if my car will run out of gas,
before I reach a station,
so I ration,
in a lonely fashion,
till the end of days.

Now I found my destination,
nowhere,
an endless journey of impossible impossibilities,
redundancy and monotonosity becomes me,
as the wheel burns away the skin of my hands,
and it turns slowly under my control,
and I find myself lost.

If only I had a map,
and each road wasn't rigged as a trap,
for each one has it's ups and downs,
with many abandoned towns,
the dust blows on past my feet,
and I stand waiting now.