When I needed a fast car, I stole away to be the thief.
Climbing through branches, I spin my way down through cogs.
Having the time of my life, I stand on open fields.
Blow away these old roads, and touch the rivers bed.
Buried in my head, Rested on my life support machine.
I once stole an engine, from an open field.
It rested on my shoulders, a torso of pistons.
I was under a cloudless sky, rested on my red speed machine.