The headaches come and go.
Just like the pain of blinking you
In and out of sight.
It was a disorder much too advanced
To cure, or understand.
And even if someone brought flowers, or offered a gun
To be out out of misery
I question which is worth it.
The mystery in all these molecules,
The crazy and unseen,
Keeps the foot to the petal.
I'll drive till the sun rises over mountains.
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