Death of a Legend

On that 5:30pm evening,
while the sun was making its way down the sky,
a small grey car appeared
driving its life fast through Cholame.

His tires glided down the long highway,
the pedal feeling the floor board.
If you saw the vehicle from a far,
then you must have been hallucinating.

It was on its way to glory and fame.
His soul a rebel, but kind.
But that didn't matter to the Ford coming its way,
his stronger built interior more define.

The grey spyder went flying,
sprawling out onto the dead grass along the road.
His body was crunched and ruined,
while his enemy was barely bruised.

The small grey car lay silent,
as the sun chased the horizon.
It was on that Highway 41
where both our dreams faded.