Sitting inside vehicles is kind of against the spirit of roads. 

You need to stand up and test the cellings once in a while, 

let the acceleration dip you rather than the gravity. 

You are marching and the yellow grasses, rusted mechanics start going on the other side, 

like sheets cover us starting from the toes to the uplifted head. 

Sleepwalking through the meaty way you have been here,

Rage to the upcoming unknowns, 

let all the murderers, drunk gamblers, smoking undressed women pass by your way. 

It’s always better to be finished when that moment of closing sheets come, 

don’t go with burning ingredients to that dissipating point.

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Photograph: Google.