It picked
a Hell of a night to rain.
That frog picked
a Hell of a time to cross.
I picked
a Hell of a second to swerve.
Your brakes picked
a Hell of an instant to lock.
This is what they tell you
when the Ride is finally over:
You've learned nothing
—wasted space—
if you haven't absorbed
the theme:
We pick nothing.
We
pick
nothing.
We pick nothing
(but our words).
