Against my better judgment
I found myself in that car.
We didn’t care about crashing.
We didn’t care about police.
We were just flying down the highway.
It felt like we were flying.
In that time of flying,
I must have lost all judgement.
Going 80 down the highway
In a little bullet car.
We never did see any police.
There was no sign of crashing.
I wasn’t until later I even thought about crashing.
All I felt was flying
Past the trees and grazing deer, never fearing the police.
Now there was no time for silly judgement
Only laugher filled that tiny car.
I felt alive on that dark highway.
It was only us ripping down that highway.
There was no way we’d end up crashing.
In that moment, the whole world was that car.
Who knew that, still tires to the asphalt, I could be flying?
That’s something that takes skewed judgement.
But we would be judged, if only by the police.
Who are these police?
Just Nazis of the highway.
And that is my judgement.
If we had ended up crashing,
Would we had been sent flying
Through the glass of that little black car?
Just change gears again; trust the car.
Nothing can stop us, not the police.
I want to stay flying
Down that dark old highway
With no thought of crashing.
No second thought; no mortal judgement.
It takes all your judgement driving that car.
Crashing never entered our thoughts as we looked out for police.
We were plowing down that highway– flying.
