By Arcassin Burnham

132 miles per hour, 222 more to go,
you would say it's very apparent
I would be emphasizing on the road,
heaven calls,
the devils mad,
secrets revealed about my soul,
thoughts I never knew you had,
The egg man takes me on a journey,
to all the broken things I stole,
dry my eyes and spill my seeds,
the lord forgives if I would plead,
Ms.Riperton will sing to me,
lyrics she'll feed,
Woodstock for the clearing of my soul,
wishing I could go back in time,
deal without thoughts of being old,
maybe I'm just falling out of line,
like being on acid for two hours and
going to wonderland,
you maybe old but for the young we must
understand,
Drugs are bad.