racing down tway

we're speeding down the highway
       to get...  down the highway.
i don't think i was told the destination,
       and everytime i ask
the divers tell me we must be getting closer--
       just look at all the places we've passed.
sometimes i feel like we're on a giant beltway,
       so large
that each time we pass the places we've passed before,
       it has been so long since we passed that they have
grown and we don't recongize them any more.

we're speeding down a highway to get...
      down the higway,
and each mile i am told progress
      is being made-.
and between each of the growths that mark
      our progress, grow rows of roofs
that resemble funeral mounds-
      the dun barrows that have begun
to connect each urban outpost
      and run them together until
there is no country, only a
      contnutiy of monotonous suburbanity
that is broken only in spots
by strip malls and cities-.

and where are we headed?
      the drivers deny they don't know
and try hide it by saying
                   obviously we're making progress-
but i'm just along for the ride...
or- i'm being taken for a ride...
      and i have no other choice
my only option is to progress faster than
everyone else.
otherwise i'll be left behind
      or maybe i just need to keep up,
but mediocity was never enough...

so now it's competitive progress-.

      so now-
we're racing down the highway to get-
      down the highway
first.