Slave to the Streetlight

Standard

It’s of many plights
You drive jade, goldenrod, and crimson lights
Some people are like robotic- slaves
They calmly slow down
At a goldenrod they run this routine
Never minding never thinking about freedom
When it is crimson
They are goody goods
Sit there like squares
On their biscuit
Never willing to risk it
The rush, you do not regret
You fly
The red and blue lights
Don’t fret, you Kyle
You race through with your cigarette
Chew on it with pride
And listen to The Police
Ironic isn’t it?
You do because
Otherwise
You conform
I know you enough to say that isn’t your style
To conform and not confront the life
You by living, rejecting, the humdrum of everyday
Dream bigger dreams
Look that other guy straight in his eye
And scream
Fuck you
Bastard
You sit there thinking
You cut me off
And now we are sitting at a red
It’s almost evil but still fantastic
You smash that pedal Kyle
You show them
Drive 60 in a 45
It’s night 2:00 in the morning
You are nobody’s slave
He is a slave to the streetlight
The other guy
Not you

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