The empty highway, from Rachel’s cross to Rachel Nevada.
Lights in the sky, sharp talons of fighters, or reptile overlords.
I have bad dreams when I sleep while traveling, corrosive fear.
Rachel started a chain reaction, but sacred nukes burn the sky.
I drive, sacred songs on a distant frequency, blasphemous preacher.
The lights are interdimensional ships, they’ll take me for a ride now.
Rachel Nevada is where the lights come out, and I know no saints.
Rachel is a martyr, now less than human, just a recruitment poster.
Don’t sleep; they steal your soul in your dreams, the one hope of peace.
I’m missing time, wake to engine idling, a preacher on the radio ranting.
Three hours, outside of Rachel Nevada, knowing I’ve come to burn down.
Rachel will turn her back, as I’m unimpressed with faith, wanting to dream.