Slam - the final countdown

The sub 3-minute version of the final countdown.

a reading from the verses of the totally fucked
once more into the breach
one more day, and we will be released
we, we lie a lot
we have to
together, two by two
with red eyes like taillights
blown corneas, swollen veins
driver's eyes alike
streaming everywhere you don't want to be
twice, Visa, two signatures
a white towel and a titty fuck
in a bar outside the airport
three numbers on the back
that security feature
never prevents you
from taking last call
and pounding it unconscious
sixteen ounces at a time
four hours later, four lanes wide
red lights flying two at a time
all staring backward and bleary
glaring, hungover, hating hearing
the clock toll in the morning
five o'clock roll call
snap to attention
time to go everywhere you don't want to be
five fingers gripping the wheel
wrapped around a glass
do you drink and drive?
do you really live and thrive?
is this what we live for
to barely survive until we die
I'm confused. I keep paying dues
but the world stays cast in stone gray hues
except for the red eyes, streaming, two by two
six feet tall
green throwback, shoulder holster
scribblin' deathbed thoughts at the Big Fat Greek
irony – I almost met my end in the street
zero difference
six hours later
seventy-fifth at seven AM
the HOVA lane officially exists
but it's so early no one's at the party
even God slept on the seventh
I'm still streaming straight coffee when I piss
eight beats in a bar
count 'em
count 'em to keep yourself steady
at eight when you're already topped off
already been home stepped out to step off
I pretend I don't need 'em
just chug 'em and breathe 'em
nine exits
gotta hustle, gotta go
don't feel great, can't be late
hate feeling this way
hate that I don't even feel alone
maybe this is what it's like to be grown
miserable red taillights, drivers' eyes alike
glaring staring hating hearing
the clock toll in the morning
five o clock fuck it all roll call
you're everywhere you never wanted to be --
good things come to those who wait,
but I have never been a patient person.
Let my Toyota's tiny ten-inch speakers
bump this final countdown
nine thousand more yards
I can already see the bridge pylon
eight legs, spiders on my windshield
there's sanity in their slime
seven levels of hell
the darkest part of depression
the deepest secret of the bells
don't ask, don't tell
six sibling's I'll fail
all angels I hailed in dreams
so I could tell them tall tales
five thousand miles, for six month spells
round trip
is more than Scheherazade could fill
I slipped, I need, I miss
my baby sister's kiss
never put a razor to my wrist
but there's a beauty burning in this
four cylinders in my car, all aching
four chambers in my heart, all breaking
three seconds to impact
this is understanding in a car crash
too exhausted to ask why
two hands on the wheel
turn to the side, and do it right
everybody will know
just one, all alone
it's my time - I’m sick of driving in the lines