Gone Fishing
Gradually, gradually, gradually onward
Into the Valley of Strange we
descend
Following our compass
pointing South
We put our squared wheeled
wreck in reverse
Can not find our destination
Not that anyone really cares
So far past the point of no
return
Nothing matters anymore
At least the trip is not a
dull one
As we careen out of control
Only then does the GPS proclaim
We are riding a road to
nowhere
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