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The beat is quick
on pale concrete
wheels will turn
on rubber they meet

The dance is slow
spirals in a dive
moving out of time
into hell you drive

The ride is hard
faster you pass by
eighteen wheel monsters
crushed by cold steel sky

The pain increases
Blood flow ceases
Front end slides behind

Your car is spinning
Death is winning
You're caught behind the line

Your eyesight is dim
as sirens move in
and you try to find
a cloud in the sky
the police arrive
they say you're alright
that you should relax
and take it in stride
the ambulance comes
and towtrucks move in
like vultures at work
picking apart
swallowing up
setting you down
on soft, cool, white sheets
starchy and clean

"Congratulations, you've become a vital statistic. A victim of The Dance!"