Fast lanes all over, a circle of demonised highways. Jumps and hops, tripping and rolling all over again into twisting turning fire. A rage is fuel; a pain, is a reason to drive. Hiding form his own shadow, gets to the nearest place, so far away, and rests his head in a huge pile of nails. Behind his nightmares, a Chain and a Hammer.
Dancing in oily fire.
Disgust.
