The bicycle Rempits
Hawking the highway
In the dead of the night
Selling their souls to the devils
They come out in the wee hours
The young adults gearing up to fly
On the highway of their choice
They want to show how good they are
They want to make history
In their lives riding their modified bicycles
The yell of joy in the wee hour of the night
Satan is always welcoming more souls don't they know?
In the silent of the night
In the whirring of the wind
The bicycle Rempits throw caution away
They want to fly like superman
On the highway of silence
The whirring of the sound
The danger isn't in the vocabulary
The sign of death waiting to happen
The bicycle Rempits
The parents play innocence
The bicycles are physically presence
If only they ask questions!
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