handel
and enough winding ribbon to kill a twelve pack
it's the back road
up on the ridge lines
going in and out of the clouds
the rain pattering on my rooftop
no one around for miles
i'll blur the scenery
into streaks along the windows
speeding
drunk
handel singing of god
at forty five hundred feet
and i'm swerving in and out of the world
closer to god
than i'll ever be
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reiterate, reiterate, reiterate
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