Wild Willie Borsch . . . .
at the wheel of the Winged Express AA/FA
One hand on the wheel ,
the other on the body . . . .
Pedal to the floor ,
Wide Fucking Open . . . .
Power slidin' down the strip . . . .
Wheel ,
full lock into the slide . . . .
The nitro cackle ,
blasting from the zoomies . . . .
The slicks at full boil ,
smoke pouring off them . . . .
The sounds ,
the smell . . . .
Sensory overload . . . .
The silence of the moment . . . .
A moment ,
frozen in time . . . .
A nano-second ,
a lifetime . . . .
Alone with . . . .
Waiting ,
time suspended . . . .
Is this it ,
am I over the edge . . . .
Just Willie ,
and the Express . . . .
nothing
else
matters
Balls To The Wall ,
Wide Fucking Open . . . .
Controlled chaos ,
just waiting ,
to loose it . . . .
Smilin' at death ,
here I am Fucker ,
come get me . . . .
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