The urge to run will breath life
into your limp figure
and shock your spirit into flight;
there's something whimsical
about the West, a spark
which was birthed within our
ancestors and simmers in us still.

Your amber eyes light up
at the Californian fantasy,
your skin crawls with
anticipation and restlessness,
your lips tremble with excitement
at the everlasting roads

So dream on, dear child,
because you're not going anywhere.
You're trapped here and you know it.