Roadwork On The 818.

See, the today of the matter is that we’re already here

Spiraling down, spiraling out in an uncontrollable craze

I look to you to seek solace, to save face

but your back has already been turned to me.

Smiling faces though no comfort to be found

seek solace in your pity party

for that’s the only truck stop that’s around.

Sometimes I wish I could speak my mind instead of running in circles and wasting my time.

You were just the product of a one night stand
Yet what I don’t get is how you’re in high demand. 

For a trail I shall forge on my own —
I shall blaze brightly fighting hard all alone. 

see, sometimes I don’t understand you

and I don’t understand this place

I don’t know if you can read it

but the volumes of confusion are

plastered all over my face