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Nine shitty poems. We're heading for the last stop
This train allows
Before it heads back to where we're avoiding
We're looking for what others don't have
We're hunting for a new kind
Of free range human
The world, when you're coming on strong,
Seems to spin a little out of control
And if you don't try to hold on
You'll end up a projectile, sailing through space
Gaining momentum
Eventually finding the edge of the universe,
Or colliding with debris.
If you believe that's okay,
Then by all means, please, push yourself to the limit
Also try not to forget to bring with you
A sack lunch for your long strange trip
