The Driven

You can tell by the way they drive.
You know you can tell so much about a person by how they drive.
You know what I mean?
It reveals their personality quirks.

Oh taxi, oh cabbie, no need to show your face.
I feel your being in the way you brake.
My captain, my squire, you stop and go.
Stop and dart.
See the world in fits and starts.
Between the beating, to my throat up goes my heart.

St. Christopher implores ye to flow.
The signals beckon ye to heed.
Amber beacons beg ye hasten or halt.
The clues are right before thine eyes.

If he'd just pay attention to the friggin' traffic lights.
I pay dearly for the sins of my family.
They drank and died and left me behind.
But I drive on as best I can,
While avoiding wearing down my pads.

Jesus Christ, he must fuckin' see nothing coming in his damn life.
Totally no insight!
Oh my God, you mean if I have sex without a condom, it makes babies?
Right Sparky!

My driver, my steed, the world is so much more
Than the self-imposed blockades of your mind's concrete moor.
Oh chauffer, oh cowboy, I can feel your pain.
It all resides in the way you rein.

Slowly traverse the road to see the life along the way.
Stop not in haste,
But travel the path's promise unseen in speed.
Travesty and triumph raced aside,
The journey need not be.

I think his life might change if he didn't ride the brake.
I wish my life would change.
I always travel at acceptable speeds
And appropriately obey the red.
I fantasize about going over the limit and then slamming on my brakes till they lock.
But I fear the ticket.

Egos dawdle on paths that others trod,
Heeding disparate sirens.
Lest ye all follow the lemmings' affront.
As death be the ultimate departure for which there is no brake.