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Talkin' One Thirty A.M. Lonely Highway Blues
Folder:
Which Do Not Belong The road is not your friend
At first whiff of the first hint of the first chance
She'll fling you like nothing into the ditch
That steel beautiful King of the Road
becomes the creamatorium to burn your sinews into ashes
alive
The road needs no King
In those long, blurry stretches
when you wont meet anyone for minutes and hours on end
She's laid down her ice
to send you swerving headlong into a kindred night traveller
Just to show that she needs no one
You mean nothing at all to her
Your life is just so much billowing snow
commanded by the wind
Then heed this:
The road is not your friend
I like the personification of the road.