Some journeys hook us on the speed
Each destination blurred by motion
Passing signs we cannot read
We get our kicks on the B146
Some journeys take us back again
Home to mother – tied to strings of devotion
Making girls of women and boys of men
With garage flowers from a windswept forecourt
Some journeys break us on the wheel
With the radio cranked up loud
Our eyes are shutters made of steel
When we set of with no care or forethought
Some journeys lead us to dead ends
Bottlenecks and a milling crowd
Composed of strangers, enemies and friends
With no room to make a three point turn
Some journeys stretch us to the point
Where we fear nothing else can break
Space and time – both out of joint
Do we survive or crash and burn?
Some journeys force us to concede
The road exists for its own sake
We cannot always hope to succeed
And not every breakdown has a fix
