A motorcycle functions entirely in accordance with the laws of reason, and a study of the art of motorcycle maintenance is really a miniature study of the art of rationality itself.
-Robert Pirsig
I am of a dying breed A son of thunder Born from the wind I am of the lost brotherhood The one that never was I live in a broken dream My wings slowly bleeding On a floor of clouds So cry not for me If winter touched my hair Did he not leave tears of wisdom On my face Cry not for me If I shall find my grave On the winding roads I crave If I’m not of age As my soul is leaving attached to a warm bullet For I have no brother
to sing with me The songs I hear As I ride alone On roads going nowhere
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