and no direction, too...

Driving down through the desiccated coast I feel the heat rising off the sunburned ground through the tiny fibers in the indigo canopy. My mind been a wanderin' as I'm passin' this scene like some ephemeratic picture on a moving screen, telling me to keep on movin', they don't stop for no one. Why should you? Beggars and thieves, through and through, mind you. They stop for no one. Why should you? I'm a God-fearin' man, like the lot of these mates, who sit here and sit there and talk of these things and those, and make sense of what's not to make sense of. Reasonable, God-fearin' men, through and through. Comin' through the pass, mountain escort to the end of the road, keepin' myself awake on the Lord's golden brew, a slap in the face here and there, and an assortment of pills that'd make the Easter Bunny cream. Where's your voice, man? Whaddya say 'bout that? Makin' no sense's what you're doin', been fixin' to do, all these days. It's always the same thing. Outta your mind, you've conjured yourself, in the worst possible way. just keep talkin', brotha'. you'll be there soon enough, so says i.