Building the truck from petroleum,
Forged the frame with coal,
Running that fire on fuel,
On blood of the earth,
Giving that fire as manhood,
Adult independence,
Centralized but shippable,
That rite of passage,
Out ran every cheetah,
Made your mind transport,
To dream of aromatic petro,
Filling your manhood,
And truck with hope,
Only to see yourself giant,
In a tiny bottle,
Now trapped to drown
With everything metallic,
Heavy with metal,
But still professionally painted