My truck looks like me I see those halfway tires and I can see my legs Broken, hurt, tired columns of bones and muscles that sustains me But somebody can tell that my truck has more wheels than I have got legs However Sometimes life puts me on all fours. Degrading, but still rolling. My truck looks like me With two doors that open anytime to let people in Just like my arms were made to hug. My truck has a broken grill and it has some semblance of my nose. Strong steel, but plastic too. My truck is not the stiffest Because neither am I And I guess neither are you. My truck has only two seats although a third Momentaneous short timed companion can fit in. My truck looks like me with its multiple colors. It is red But gray, also white with its shades. My truck needs work and it clearly speaks about me Whose interior craves cleaning. Naturally it sounds loud. My truck snores and I rev up. Muffler? Hustler? We are both old and it doesn't cost a dime to treat it right. Oil change and water where it must. Some things work better if wet And the valves, oh the valves! like my heart, endless pumping of fluids. Can you feel it? A robust flow They come and go through arteries and tissues. Machines will fail, exhaust will fart. And the mind will have issues. But a pipe ages and when it does it drips. Steering can get loose. In the morning a kick start. Ungovernable? We both can act like pricks. But nothing can stop, not even clutch leaks A great and solid engine V6.