There’s a fire on the backstreets–
And there’s a liar in the backseat–
We’re screaming the songs that changed our lives.
The sun’s ticking like a time bomb–
But the wheelman seems to keep calm–
I’m sitting shotgun as he drives.

And the sky blew up as the bomb came down
To join the flames that burn our town
As we three pathless, wide-eyed ghosts
Ignore the speeds on roadside posts

Those white dashes in the red night glowed–
Like a suicide note on the road–
That the heroes on the stereo sing.
We’re all broken like the brakes now–
And no one even cares how–
The radio came to be king.

And the air that rushed between the cars
Became our breaths and our guitars
So the blues that the orange sky betrayed
Could find a home in what we played

And the past has yet to make us old–
We’re younger still for souls we've sold–
And for conclusions that we've drawn.
That the lives reflected in the mirror–
Are not as close as they appear–
And even then, they’re pretty far gone.

06/24/2009

Posted on 06/24/2009
Copyright © 2024 V. Blake