The Incident

At junction 8 the traffic starts to slow

Artilleries of braking lights and bluish glow

Ascending in a plumage of twisted steel

Shattered glass and confetti dashed upon the wheel

When a car crash gets you off you've lost your grip

When a fuck is not enough you know you've slipped

When the church is full it means you've just been had

When the world has gone to seed you're so detached

Got a feeling that I want you to be there

Driving by on my way to somewhere else

I fill my lungs with a noxious burning smell

There is weed and grey concrete like this for miles

Dead souls in my rear view mirror hitch a ride for a while

I want to be loved