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Highway 666

Down near Highway 666
See I'm flying South
And in the sky I sit
For the engine has died
And the tires took off
Somewhere back - in the North

I think East is running
And I heard West was shot down
With the tar lying -
on that very ground

On highway 666
With the brittle bones of a society
Where the pope licks his lips
With hellish piety
Where he stomps on the highway
Where brown and white infants lay
Next to the president’s tap dancing
On a child astray

Where was I then?

Maybe through to the West
But not quite South - and not quite East
I’m on the road with the priest
To pray for his sins
With the orchestra playing on the radio -
only black violins

He told me the devil rides shotgun
He told me the devil rides everyone

I asked him where?
And he replied,
Down near Highway 666
Where the miscarried babies cried
Where I was flying South
On my own word of mouth
Trying to see the East
But blinded with defeat

I turn to the priest
To pray for release
But he tells me
I’m so far out - so far out
To be free
Of my own highway

Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
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How was my language use?
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Last few words: 
A re-edited version of a poem I previously posted. Just wanting more feedback - I struggle to make some sort of sense or meaning in my poems. Hopefully this does it more justice.
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