I wish this car didn't have to take me there,
I wish that the compass on its dash didn't have to always point north,
The pavement, the streets,
They only point one way,
I wish the passing pavement would go faster underneath our feet,
I may be only a passenger, but I feel as if out destination isn't the driver's grim expectation,
Its my wild imagination's wildest dream,
Full of grass and fields, all glowing green,
The sky would be a blue kind of gray,
I may be a mere passenger but I know the way,
But the compass is set on eluding me,
It does not waver, nor quiver in its place,
And while it's easy to imagine that when the car stops, my feet will not on be stone but sand,
I've come to realize, with a certain painful ache, that in the end, it is only as it seems,
And I am just a passenger with a dream.
Thank you for reading!
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