Brian Vander Ark


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Right turn,
The neighborhood
is pretty quiet
for a weekday.
Left turn,
The same one way
to work almost everyday.

Pass by the high school,
A memory rerun
When I was seventeen
couldn't wait
for twenty-one.
I pass by the church
Where I married you
When you were twenty-one
and I was twenty-two.

A stop sign,
A chance
to clear my mind
before the workday.
Then a right turn
Is where I catch
another glimpse
of the highway.

So I speed pass
the building,
I always wanted to
Since I was twenty-one,
almost twenty-two.
If I'd had the nerve,
I'd have quit there before
You turned twenty-three
and couldn't take me anymore.

The well known
Sits in a cloud of dust
of on this weekday.
My cell phone
Is in about
a million pieces
on the highway.

Speed down the highway,
Rack up the miles.
One hundred twenty-one,
a hundred twenty-two.
Roll down the window,
Roll out the miles.
One hundred twenty-three,
a hundred twenty-four.
And straight down the highway,
The road offers no guarantees.
(One thousand twenty-one,
one thousand twenty-two.)
Drive through the morning,
drive into the sun,
And I'm free.
(One thousand twenty-three,
one thousand twenty-four)

Autor(es): Brian Vander Ark

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