Life in the slow lane

laughin',
cruisin' around the universe at the minimum speed limit, baby:
40 miles an hour is just slow enough to be relaxed
and watch all the people in the Rearview with lead feet
(hahaha...what a weight it must be)
lay on their horns all day
while I busily enjoy the scenery;
where I am is where I wanna be.
yeah, I'm everywhere I wanna be
'cuz i'm my own man visa
vis
the rest of the earth
slipping on the scree
blind and hurt and pissed,
like a round fist huddled in on itself, curled
and swinging in haymaker circles for eternity...
but what are you fighting?
and that Roadmap, once it's unfurled,
will list all those places that
couldn't keep me
at bay-red tacks on cities like lite-brite
pegs suggest a Design I could never see:
for me, the big picture is painted
one slow fingerbrush caress at a time
on my cheek, smiles drawn
by a hand guiding mine into yours,
connecting those dots at 40 miles an hour,
so fiercely relaxed I can smile and flip the bird;
it's nothing personal, man...
hop in the car!
join me and we'll both
fuck the world.