Road Trip

The ping drives
The cans fall on the floor
They roll to the front
And then they roll back

Whispers from afar
It sounds like a refrain
I once knew, knew well

A steady clink appears
It moves forward
Building upon itself
While the Florida heat
Melts the pavement beneath

The bottles roll again
Crashing underneath the seats
Forced to hit the breaks

Whispers grow to a shout
They tell you that it all matters
Then the murmur drowns it all

Beat, upon beat slow down
All to a trickle ends
Leaving us wet and tired

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