| Night driving. |
| Faced my wheel.
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| Both of my legs replaced by steel.
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| Lights in my eyes. |
| Rear-view rosary.
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| Woke up this morning with your blood all over me.
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| My finger drew a deep red line.
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| Shout. |
| Living without dead time.
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| Scared, yes. |
| That would be a fair guess.
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| A New York City that couldn’t care less.
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| Nights in Paris I just about died.
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| Behind doors that locked only on the outside.
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| Wandering hope attacked by worries.
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| Bended. |
| Attended to by furies.
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| Communion swallowed, my head hung.
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| Taste of paper on my tongue.
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| 'I see nothing', the driver said,
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| 'I can’t tell if I’m alive or dead'.
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| I’m a runaway…
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| Ten to two and the highway’s divided.
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| Don’t look back — my way’s decided.
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| Milk’s been spilt, the wall’s been built.
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| Bones like glass and painted-over guilt.
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| Unanswered questions I fed on in prison.
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| Opposite fears in head-on collision.
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| I am the passenger — passionate, ill-at-ease.
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| Silver teeth and psychic abilities.
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| Roots and wires. |
| Evens and odds.
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| Degrees of perfection. |
| Demons and gods.
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| The loneliest hunter, fists in his pockets.
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| Waits and distances, pistons and rockets.
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| No going back. |
| Black afternoons and red nights.
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| Lost in thought and caught in the headlights.
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| Into the unknown, I better arrive.
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| I can’t tell if I’m dead or alive.
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| I’m a runaway… |