Songwriter: Michael Eugene Hall
The quiet monster waits to erupt
As each tone subtle not abrupt
Tickles my ears and tightens my gut
Finally releasing me to make a rut.
Behind me a mass of hurling rock
Relentlessly after me to beat the clock
Gaining momentum with every second
A mighty force to be reckoned.
Dust flies from the mass of rubble.
Spectators' eyes are glazed with trouble.
Recklessly riding the boulderee mass
While gaining speed and flying past.
The finish line is a beautiful sight
As I roll through it faster than light.
The large mass dwindles to a slide.
Reflecting back I think, "what a Ride!"