Silent nights wrapped in gold, Rows of light where secrets hold. A black machine cuts through the haze, Its driver lost in borrowed days.
Pine-lined walls, a glowing cage, Stories whispered off the page. The trees, they burn, yet never die, A question lingers — where, and why?
Tires carve through snow and ash, The past ahead, a fleeting flash. Beneath the stars, all truth foregone, The road rolls out. It just goes on.
