Lap to Lap- Full Throttle

Always under suspicion; I’m the usual suspect.
There’s always somebody fitting my descript,
but when Lisa rides with me, I can do no wrong.
She sits quiet, and my mind’s at ease
to know she don’t mind holding my disease.
It’s like she’s plugged in        to my favorite song.

It goes:
Death’s got her fingers wrapped around my crank.
Pull the trigger on the stars with another yank,
and together, skull grinning, we’ll crash into the void.
I tell her,
Get your fine ass off of my back fender,
throw your leg around here, maybe I’ll surrender
going lap to lap-  full throttle into the void.

Loving Lisa’s like sin by the crucifixion.
I’d eat her: flesh and blood.  She’s my new religion,
and if I let her go, you know, she’ll come again.
She gets hot when the engine’s running.
I’m ready for the second coming,
and we’re fueled for another mad ascension.

She’s got her wet fingers all around my crank
Yeah, she’s beatin’ the odds with each and every yank.
I could get off, skull grinning, out into the void.
I tell her,
Get your fine ass off of my back fender
throw your leg around here maybe you’ll surrender
going lap to lap-  full throttle into the void.

Ride hard?  I’m always riding hard!
Ride fast? Any faster, and I wont last!

She likes riding with her back to the wind.
I never watch where I’m going, ‘cos she sees where we’ve been:
going lap to lap-  full throttle into the void.

Going lap to lap-  full throttle into the void.