Treadmarks, Skid lines

In this road that stretches on to eternity,
We are all, but, commuters.
Some have it good in a big car,
Others have it bad, skin against the tar.

They will judge you,
The sun will beat down on you,
You are not going to have it easy,
But then there is always company.

Some are with you from the beginning,
Others you pick up along the way,
Some are just hitch hikers,
You will know the ones that are here to stay.

I guess by the end of it,
You've seen what you wanted to see,
You've felt what you wanted to feel,
You are as alive as you will ever be.

And when you hit the breaks,
You can put on your best smile,
And declare,
This! Has indeed been the finest hour!