White Strips

When I drive down my road and I look in my mirrors they shake interesting my music must be too loud so I turn it down I can see the pebbles in the snow kicked up by the last teenager to race down this lane the little black dots make the road look like a Shell Silverstein sketch how funny it's been forever since I read his poems I loved them I wonder if I still have that book... no matter I'll get home soon that car still rattling as I go that's probably why I had my music so loud it was silly though still is I love to feel the vibrations in my seat I doubt my parents would like this song I'm not even sure if I do myself How silly yet again I think of myself as so grounded yet I cant even tell what I'm thinking or what I like and enjoy As conscious as I am as deep as I look within myself I still cant put a finger on it there's something I cant read or is there maybe I'm just trying to read the scribbles the scratches I interpreted as another language maybe I'm looking too deep maybe I should look at the road.