I'm scared all this passion and desire will run down the streets; the streets we used to run, in love...

                                                       Where's the excitement, the thrill? No more loopdy loops, no more 

sudden drops.

                                                                                                                              Where's the sharp turns

and the fluttering butterflies?

         All at one, summer's highs were winter's lows. The ride is broken, closed, out of season.