Eleven fifty-eight was the stride
Eleven fifty-nine a key clicks
Twelve I begin my midnight ride.
Same ole routine
turning a knob to blast melody.
Not caring who hears
the foreign notes
that play sweet for my ears.
Until I notice the difference
in the peace of a midnight ride.
Never more has the wind been more smooth.
Being so magical to force the knob
down to low key.
To soon catching glimpses
of the dancing city lights
No need to worry of waking anyone
with my music.
For there is already a bustle of lively hood
I have never experienced before.
The blackest of Fridays it turns to be
"we should be sleeping" soccer moms plea.
Never minding how beautiful the moon rises.
Oh but I do--
on my midnight ride.
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