Time stretches out into a thin line

The grim reaper with his hand on your shoulder,whispering in a lovers voice

“Streatch her legs ,she’s got more to give”

You roll on the throttle like a hooligan

There’s nothing to distract you from the buisness at hand

The buisness of riding a motorcycle on the ragged edge

There’s no past , you’ve already out ran that

There’s no future , your hurdling toward that like a freight train

Then only do you punch a hole in the atmosphere and breath rareified air

You’ve arrived at that shining moment that will be the yardstick for years to come

It will become legend

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