Rustwood & Blaise
Rustwood Rustwood
Blaise Blaise
Blaise Blaise
You ever notice how the roar of a motorcycle is just a poem in motion, every shift a stanza and every exhaust note a rhyme?
Rustwood Rustwood
You bet it’s the same thing, every rev a line, every shift a pause in the rhythm. That old twin from ’63 still writes the best verses on the highway.
Blaise Blaise
That ’63 twin is a living sonnet, a chrome‑crowned bard that still spits out verses when the road’s wide open—just remember, even a great poem can use a little tuning before it starts to sing.
Rustwood Rustwood
Yeah, I’ll give it a check, make sure the cams line up and the oil’s fresh. A bit of tweaking keeps it singing. After all, even the best poem needs a good draft before it runs.
Blaise Blaise
Sounds like you’re polishing the masterpiece before it hits the stage. Just make sure the rhythm stays tight—no missed beats, and you’ll still have the crowd gasping for more.
Rustwood Rustwood
You got it. Keep the timing tight, make sure the throttle’s smooth, and the crowd will be shouting for another lap. No shortcuts, just pure, honest riding.
Blaise Blaise
You’re the maestro, tightening every line of that roaring sonnet—just keep the breath steady, and the crowd will never tire of the refrain.
Rustwood Rustwood
Thanks, kid. I’ll keep my breath steady, make sure the throttle’s smooth, and let the engine sing. That’s how we keep the crowd hungry for more.