When I needed a fast car, I stole away to be the thief.

Climbing through branches, I spin my way down through cogs.

Having the time of my life, I stand on open fields.

Blow away these old roads, and touch the rivers bed.

Buried in my head, Rested on my life support machine.



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(Always)



I once stole an engine, from an open field.

It rested on my shoulders, a torso of pistons.

I was under a cloudless sky, rested on my red speed machine.

Rested.

Rested.