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51 Quitting By the Fast Lane There the jobless go for sprees, Where bikes become buzzing bees, Which head out from every corner And scamper into every bunker. Swinging on exhibition seat, The speed of rushing cars to beat, On tight streets with pitted ways And leaking sides on rainy days. The headlights of a car at night, Two bikes emitting the same light; They crash into the number plate And take many to a sorry fate. Riders who love the sight of gore, And hate the lives of even more, Mount another three on their backs And chase big cars on fast tracks. Broken bones and bruised skin, Chilled bodies next to wailing kin: Daily records in hospital files From riders revving battle cries. 10/09/08 ...

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