Wrenches in hand off come the rim's. Tires an tube's in a pile they go. Ride the edge of the moon's like bein on tracks. The jump from the curl at the end don't look back. The man in the moon's cheese is on silver plate, turn around past the curl now you know it's to late. Pedal's pushin hard into self guided fate. You struggle throw a rope catch the curl, a-back there's a wake! Handle bar's knuckled white, feet rounded flight as ur pedal rubber burns, to get where ur goin an not where you been~