A long way from New OrleansNumber nine, the speedo needle roars of the engine underneath.More Like This
Yank the throttle, glimpse the horizon, I'll go there,
wherever I want to.
She stood at the roadside, now where did she go?
With me, of course, let's ride into the nothingness,
talk the tales of your tall dreams at the stops we make,
breakfast at noon and tap three times when you need to go.
Cause it's a long way from New Orleans, babe.
Hollywood, hell, I just like to ride,
'specially with a pretty girl at my back.
You told me of your dreams when we stopped for coffee that time,
I smiled politely, cause I barely knew your name then, Kate.
Back when you only had your coat, your sunglasses, your dreams...
You really were a dreamer.
We'd set off again, you claimed you loved the ride,
I claimed I loved the company,
and we'd ride till the sun went down.
Gradually the motel rooms became room,
beds became bed,
and we went from travellers,
Kate, I never forgot the first kiss we shared, over fast-food
Two of A KindA graveyard. Moss covered granite with filigree inscriptions, standing proudly amongst dried autumn leaves. Those leaves are dead, the inhabitants of this graveyard long gone, but evergreens line the plot, showing a much pined for sense of life. One can be sure little bugs are crawling their way through the trees and leaves; but still all is quiet. Silent. All is left alone. It is ancient, undisturbed, at rest.More Like This
A road. Way signs waver with their new authority calling out directions in shaky voices to cars that are not about. A woman poses by the road, holding an all-important sign as if it is her life, thoughts trained on one thing. Hollywood; and whatever it takes to get there. Her short shorts and high heels give the glamorous impression of someone made for more, but without rows of furs and shimmering gowns, one wonders is she made for Hollywood? Yet her energy is astonishing, the young woman waits with her hyperactivity, just waiting until she can final let all her energy go, crash