Текст: Bubblemath. Other. Making Light Of Traffic.

Dark woodland night
A tiny little shiny
Shimmer glowing, glimmer growing
Showing through the trees and leaves no traces
Complicating evidence, giving people pause
Day by day the legend grows
Mysterious
Grimly daunting, dimly haunting
Flaunting in the forest every evening
Everybody's wondering what could be the cause

Floating over the power lines, something shines
Driving yellow and red aberrations through the night
People flocking from everywhere stop and stare
Grasping wildly for explanations to be right

Swamp gas, ghostly souls, UFOs and anti-gravity
Theories filled with holes dig an even bigger cavity
Swamp gas, ghostly souls, UFOs and anti-gravity
Theories filled with holes dig an even grittier cavity than before

People stand consorting, reporting what it could be
Twisted lips distorting the truth of what they see
Mystics ignoring statistics to serve and service their logistics
Pursuing their viewing while happily grappling and misconstruing

Miles away
A sprawling line of trawling
Traffic linking graphic blinking
Winking with their headlights and their tail-lights
Innocently, perfectly pointed photon load
Proven wrong, the people glare
Still pointlessly
Clinging, crying, stinging, lying
Trying to deny the boring answer:
Ordinary vehicles being on a road

Swamp gas, ghostly souls, UFOs, and anti-gravity
Theories filled with holes dig an even bigger cavity
Swamp gas, ghostly souls, UFOs and anti-gravity
Theories filled with holes dig an even grittier cavity than before