Dirty Hands

Every time I turn them around
Seems like I’ve been digging ground
I love em clean but what a pain
These hands are dirty yet again

I was in bed till midnight
Thoughts aloft and none quite bright
girls n’ booze n’ other neuronal spike

But none makes me as happy
like the thought of my good ol’ bike
burned more with the iridium plug
she could now race a big fat slug

enlarged the air filter and messed the specs
carburetion was the new bottleneck
opened the pipe, wasted more money
did nothing but raise the cacophony

I threatened, I begged n’ sustained the fret
Till I laid my hands on the big main jet
finally they came to life, these wheels I love
They now take my soul to the heavens above

And while I cruise through wind and rain
I turn them around, Oh! They’re dirty again
I ride, I ride I love my machine
helped me see things I’d never seen
the plains and mountains I’d never known
the abyss and skies I’d never flown
the good, bad, ugly…not to forget the clever
some I’d remember, other erase forever

I look at them and feel a special bond
with these ten grimy magic wands
I love em clean but what a pain
These hands are dirty yet again
Indefatigably maneuvering me into new lanes