The Highway's DiscipleIt is three in the morning when you realizeThe Highway's Disciple by ~Your-Iron-Lung
That there is no one on the road but you.
The enormous eight-lane highway is abandoned,
Miles of measured pavement stretched out, empty on all sides,
Moving effortlessly forward into a greedy, hungering maw of darkness
That swallows the bright beams of your headlights whole,
Leaving you with naught but a feeble sense
Of half-remembered direction as you travel.
The radio is silent; muted when it was caught in an area where
No one but religious talk show hosts had anything to say.
Stations full of the same old men fighting for the right to
Try to convince you that there’s nothing good in your