Again, the path of pink, crystalline, digital highway twirling its corkscrew all around,
close, as if it were my eyes themselves, the only thing to see for miles and miles,
blistering by at a breakneck pace and straight through me. There's only sweat and
the highway. The days are long and the nights are not at all. Just the pink on
black for miles and miles. When, where will I be when the road ends? I know
what I'll be doing, that's for sure.