Tilt Acathasia
One laydown machine burned a road, right through the prairie, stream of = boiling ash painted up with perfect lines, discount labor packing each = lane, bargain basement homes sewn to the road, slipshod directions do = not explain. I got these shoes for nothing and they have lasted me = forever, searching up and down the lost highway. I can read the grid, I = have memorized the key, counting every inch from C-4 to J-3, I can think = in scale 'cause I know it ain't on my map, scraping off the typeset, dig = into the atlas. Well they can paint it up, make it appear to go = somewhere, well they can paint it up, but I know where it doesn't lead. Submitted by: Mel
