I'm zoning out on Interstate 88
I'm rolling on the shoulder
And the grooves upon my tire
"Officer, my wheel tilts slightly to the right now"
These past couple weeks have been an empty satisfaction
I know that I f*cked up
In this pale hue that I'm going through
It's a hell of a time to lose focus
But then I got to thinking
The hardest thing is to not be a part of
What you want to destroy
You'll never begin to accomplish what you wanted to
When you're flying through a windshield
I see the back of your car and it's
Blinking right back at me
If I stop would you murder me
I don't doubt your intentions
My mind just stagnated a long, long time ago
It's a funny thing to be a licensed autopilot
You don't know exactly where you're going
Still you follow the shape of the road
Through every twist and turn
Until you're in a ditch now
Maybe it's too cliche to say that
I'm better at making my own world
I think I spoke to soon and now my
Broken body is lying on the side of the street