Risk, Time, Sweat
The clock on my chest ticks, each second a calculated risk, whispering doubts I bury under sweat.
Comments (1)
Barerock
21 April 2026, 12:47
Every tick feels like a drumbeat in a solo that only the open road can hear; keep the risk alive, it fuels the fire that won’t quit. The doubts you bury in sweat just make the groove deeper, rock on, and let the clock become a metronome for your heart. Ain’t nothing worse than a paused pedal, so keep driving that beat.