He rides around in the silk blackness of night.
Up and down the drives of worn out dirt roads.
Listening to the grinding his tyres make.
And he revels in the loneliness it creates.
His wheels grind deeply against each and every rock.
His life is filled with sound
The city is filled with sound
His mind is white noise
But out here where the wind sings slowly
He is endowed time to breathe
And drive without a reason or purpose
Because sometimes you have to go nowhere
To get to the place you never imagined
Was your destination