“The Motor of Life” by Kemoy Blair

You pick a car with fancy gear,

No wear or tear,

No one’s ever been in there,


You’re automatic drive

Less conscious, less handle,

Less aware of your surroundings,

So you pass on the mantle,

That’s why you hate the old cars,

Stick shift, less grip,

Worn out because of what you did to it,


In rough terrain,

Winter and rain

For your gain,

It managed to stay sane,

But when you found better you let go,

It died in the snow,


Inside was still warm though,

Despite all the frost,

Guess that’s what you get when you fuel your engine with a big heart,

But forget your struggle,


The master is just thinking smart,

Using you for his personal gain,

Forget your pain,

You can easily be replaced with a plane


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