Wrapped in rust and leather, He grips the wheel like a scepter— Eyes carved from forgotten wars, A smirk playing dead across his lips. The desert hums, A vast graveyard of neon pyramids Buzzing with electricity and old sins. The road stretches like an ancient riddle, And he knows the answer but refuses to say it. Behind him, the horizon burns— A temple of light collapsing on itself, A silent apocalypse in cyan and crimson. The engine growls low, a beast tamed Only by the weight of his hand. This is no pilgrimage. No redemption here. Just a man in gold Driving toward the last shadow, Where the night finally swallows him whole.