People always seem so stable
When you drive by
And don’t know their names.
They are just people
With their eyes forward on the road.
I wonder how many of them
Are drunk as I am
On this 230 pm road
Thinking about why she left
And why she came back,
Knowing it will happen again
Because neither of us care enough.
Some of these people must be dealing
With madness.
Some of them must have life in them.
Some so much so that they are driving home,
Or somewhere far away,
Right now
To put a bullet in their brains.