She rides her machine through the road,
the rain is pouring down.
She really can't see much,
but the raindrops on the ground.

Her eyes are wet and foggy,
her heart is at peace.
The air is grey and groggy,
a mix of green and trees.

Mixes of colors swirl around her,
as swarms of cars swerve by.
Angry voices slur,
as raindrops fill her eyes.

She's spinning down this road so fast,
the tires slip and slide.
She feels at peace with her past,
as she takes her final ride.

Her arms are spread like wings,
catching the wind as she soars.
Through streets, people, and things;
as the sky above pours.

The cars are grazing her bare arms,
she feels this is her fate.
She really won't go much too far,
if she keeps on heading straight.

Face to face; a car's ahead,
her fate is seconds away.
Within the instant she'll be dead,
in a street she use to play.

When close to death you hear a sound,
it reflects all life you lived.
Although by fate she had felt bound,
her tires began to skid.

Her machine squealed to a stop,
she flung her arms out wide.
They say a raindrop closer,
and she really would have died.

The streetlights made a spot light,
the haulted headlights made a gleam.
As she headed home at night,
she woke up from this dream.

It wasn't inspired from a tv show,
nor from a tale she read.
It was to teach her to take life slow,
cause the future goes unsaid.