Hands like shadows, steering through ice, Metal breathes softly, engine hums low, A red hat sits heavy on forgotten dreams— The sky holds no warmth, no glow. Glass cracked by silence, A road that leads nowhere but back, Fingers numb to the wheel’s rhythm, Eyes blinded to horizons that lack. Plastic faces, frozen in time, Santa’s laugh fades in shards of chrome, Onward through mirrors, broken and grey, This, too, is someone’s home.