Cold grey eyes stare across

Long stretches of packed highway

Exhaustive rushing

To destinations just beyond

The travelers planting grounds

Road side turnouts offer anonymity

And concrete silence

Motor oil and consumerism drift up

Thick on the air with flecks of want and desire

Chain restaurants once filled with chain smokers

Try their best to wash away

That sickly phantom fog of yesteryear

And make you believe all roads lead to paradise

Ominous signs read this is the last exit

Last chance to consume, last chance for miles

The traveler goes unnoticed

Like an apparition or forgotten nightmare

But as that small town gossip queen could attest

The traveler doesn’t want you to find rest

This is in fact the last exit

And the traveler wants to make it yours