It was a moment of invincibility. Our car sped through the bright sunbathed autumn landscape, with me riding shotgun and Youngblood’s The Warpath beating in my ears.
The highway cut through miles of farms and forests. Farmers paused their work to watch us, an occasional cyclist gaped as we passed him by, dogs and cows scattered at our honks.
There was an immense sense of victory and all future sorrows seemed inconceivable — the world was centered around us and at our disposal. I clenched my fist, half expecting everything to crumple up and disappear.
It’s amazing how music tricks our minds.
This medicine is wearing thin now
We’re bulletproof until we bleed out
And even though we always try to hide our instincts from our pride
In our struggle to survive we keep the warpath by our side
We strike the sky until the sun bows
And fly until our feathers burn out
All our lives we’ve been apart
A vicious cycle from the start
In our struggle to survive we keep the warpath by our side