Our purest selves Reaching deep Warm and wild Our blood thunders Tearing through elastic highways Driven by that rough, rubbery pump Congregating like pack animals Evolving thick as thieves Rough and oily with dull wit and sharp tongues Minds crackling with electric waste Droning in the distance Responding to wide signals Follow follow follow Driven by primitive urges and flights of fancy and pickling liquor Rough clumsy fumblings in backseats Stolen moments behind straight backs Populations pour from our bodies Often devoid of purpose Leaving us with shredded dignity And tired blue collar hands Where our dreams come to an abrupt halt It is all we can do to live in the present For in being ill we have drawn a line through our future