Highway 66

Driving down the soulless highway,
In the middle of the night,
Shifting to the fifth, pushing the pedal all the way,
Darkness looms in the corner of my sight.

Lane markers appear as a solid white line,
On the black road laid with asphalt,
Speeding well over the posted sign,
Pink Floyd playing by default.

Switching lanes to match the rhythm,
Staring far ahead into the twin red lights,
Following a proven algorithm,
One of those nights.

Three thousand more miles to graceland.