My scenery blows by at the
speed of diesel,
While up above people travel
at the speed of sound,
Signing their mark across the
blue open;
Down here we sign in smears of
spray paint and blood.
I catch snatches of life as it
goes past
Knowing I wouldn’t trade with
any of them
To save my own. It’s too good
to be true.
They’re building higher
everyday
If only to be closer to the
God they fear –
I relinquished my hold on Him
long ago,
And now here I am,
Nestled in the heart of man’s
anti-Christ machine,
With the scenery blowing by.
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