The highways aren’t straight
I strive to drive on the overpass
Even the high riders have to detour
Struggle in the mud-slide, sliding in black

I can’t let that faze me
I can’t let that fool me
Like a sign badly bruised
Vandalized and kicked from the wind

I can’t get past the jam
I’m jammed down by all the clueless
The clueless expect clues like exits
But the answers are straight ahead

Straight ahead, I cackle
Something as easy as straight
Could make my lanes so curved
So bent, so warped, so coiled

I wonder if the clueless wonder
If they’re traveling down the rounds
Or if they’re so wrapped up in circles
They don’t see us overhead.
Slow.