That youthful streak in you
Cared not for its state of repair.
The risk and reward of a joyride
Was irresistible to your impulse.
So, with a pickpocket's grace,
The key to car and fate was yours.

And so, to the moment
Where you left our reach:
Youthful daring did dictate
That the narrow asphalt stream you would take.
A hard black shimmering Styx,
That offered you a deadly deal:
Beat me one more time
Or your soul will be mine.

We're still unsure what occured,
That sunny, hope-filled evening,
The hedges and trees caught you in their grasps.

I like to think that this world knew your path,
That the trees and hedges' limbs were trying to slow you.

But their warning you did not heed,
Faster and faster
Not slower and slower.
Your treacherous instinct had kicked in,
The wounded car a wild horse
Who knew only one thing:
Run, run, run!

We knew it ended at a passing place,
(the irony won't let me forget)
A car driving the opposite way.
No room for you both
On this narrow stretch of the Styx:

You lost control,

Nature and mechanics lost their grips,

You went into a roll,

Your steed unseated you,

And, well...

We miss you.