I kissed your picture on the dash
gasoline on 67th, shut my eyes with all my might
face my last death, ignition turned
buckle up; driving to Valhalla tonight.

sometimes less words is worth more, to describe regrets of a life lived in hindsight
the final spike in that slippery railway, recapitated hitch-hike thumb slows me down 
enough to get a break, aboard the tunnel with the light so far...

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