Pedestrian Pickoff Part II<br />
<br />
Time served; psycho-analytic penetentiary<br />
Mentally drained, missing one essential part of me<br />
It brings me down, like the passing of the Great Machine<br />
Until is spews me forth, before tumultuous society<br />
To come for you<br />
<br />
Years can pass, but the steering wheel always feels the same<br />
Like the quest to be the sole victor of this prizeless game<br />
The rage returns, like a long-lost companion of the road<br />
Then I turn the key, and I drive off into the night alone<br />
To come for you<br />
<br />
Pedestrian Pickoff Part III<br />
<br />
I don't know which is better, the chasing or the kill<br />
The bloodstains on my bumper, or the teethmarks in my grille<br />
Below my spinning tire, your body - mutilated - is tossed<br />
The burning flesh and burning rubber mixed with the exhaust<br />
<br />
A pregnant woman, two more points, now dead beyond repair<br />
And sending senior citizens, with walkers, though the air<br />
A block away a boyscout helps a nun across the street<br />
I finish fueling quickly, then I sweep them off their feet<br />
<br />
And gleaming in my headlights, their eyes reveal the dread<br />
My signature, the tiretracks implanted on their heads<br />
The eveidence is weak, no smoking gun or bloody knife<br />
And never let a witness get away without relieveing them of life....<br />