steampunk gearshift
lifting me up
dirty sweaty and hot
oil grease and dust
and gasoline
on a windy august
yellow bright afternoon.
nothing to stop me nothing to brake for
nothing but time on my hands-
tires scream on the hairpin turns
inside my soul the power drive burns.
climbing towards the top
at the peak my acceleration won't stop
and the asphalt melts away...
the gray black concrete
beneath my feet
bends and breaks
as it warps in the heat.
my fingers grip tight prepared for a herculean fight
as I dance with the demons they pray for the night
I can sweep them away with a laugh of delight
sever their lifelines with a slash of my knife
leave them for dead
with a price on my head and my life.
but i wouldn't trade the ride on this machine
for any other ride that's in between
the heavens and earth
no matter the value no matter the worth.
it's the steampunk gearshift
that keeps me coming back for more.
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