Sane Max

Screaming along the asphalt, wheels turning in endless revolution, the sun beats down on a desert valley ripe with stale pollution.

Dreaming of the future or dreaming of the past, the motor roars its gutteral cry, to scatter ghosts en masse.

Where to go when there's no one there, therein lies a truth. A fear to face a lonely life, and yearn towards fading youth.

Winds of sand swirl and sway, the desert's tiny teeth, gnawing at the weary warrior soon to be deceased.

Pressing on for unknown cause, the laws of man recede, the fire burning lights the path of unrelenting speed.