There is in me an inherited desire to race up the worlds tallest spire.
Born in adrenalin sweat soaked need each day seeking new speeds.
Rattling windows, shuddering trucks, foot feeding velocity is a must.
Tempered by laws, those corralling momentum steeling signs, this race I decline.
Finding the path, avoiding the crash and my wife’s wrath, I simply to the store dash.
Back in a flash, without ticket or fenders mashed, managed a moment, a brief speed blast.
It’s a need, for a junky you see, controlling flame crunching machinery and speed.
Forgive me if you will, but I must get my fill, shifting, getting and going round the hill.
Knowing one day it could kill, living still with each thrill, none others in jeopardy still.
This racing bug must I fill, this need for speed my father instilled.
My mother reenforced and each set of wheels laid the course.
Follow if you can, pass me for a while, sooner or later, I’ll beat your quarter mile.