Driven.

There's a spectre haunting me
a ghost of a man from the past,
his death seems to have confused him
he thought his life would last.

He also thought he was off to work
on that fateful day
but some folk had fixed him, but good,
made his own thoughts go away.

They planted the seed inside his head
and waited, with due accord,
they planted the seed of self destruct
then pushed the button, hard!

Now, a garage is a draughty place
so he pulled the door down, tight,
and waited with his patient grace
to be driven into the night...

to the memory of Andrew Bott
dead, because he was not
hard, fierce, and competitive,
but kind and alas, sensitive.