The heaving crawl of mechanical beasts
With drivers headed north, south, west, and east
They move along on their painted paths
Each trying to avoid the other’s wrath
While making sure there are no cops around
They attempt to gain the slightest of ground
With movements judged by the rest of the herd
Some daring, crazy, or just plain absurd
All detours are jammed. All exits a mess
Finding the fast lane is anyone’s guess
When lights come flashing, they can’t help but curse
They hope there’s no wreck, that’d make things much worse
With fingers in air and honks of the horn
With desperate swerves and patience all worn
They’re all on their way as slow as can be
It’s home that they’re headed, from work they flee :P
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