Reluctantly crouched at the starting line
Engines pumping and thumping in time
The green light flashes, the flags go up
Churning and burning, they yearn for the cup

Indiana is a very easily missed state. People, outside of the states surrounding him, tend to not realize he's an adrenaline junkie. He likes to race. When he doesn't have anything else going on, he participates in as many races as he can during the racing season. He *likes* winning, when he does.

They deftly maneuver and muscle for rank
Fuel burning fast on an empty tank

It's the opposite of how he lives his life, really, but it's how he wishes he could live it. He argues a lot with Florida because of that. It's the Indy 500, fuck you. They both exist, he's entitled to his biases. He always feels like he's competing for some kind of recognition from Florida. Why it feels important, he doesn't know, but he'll fight Florida's idea that he's "boring".

Reckless and wild, they pour through the turns
Their prowess is potent and secretly stern

He works hard at being good at this one thing. He has to go by a pseudonym but he's gotten pretty well known in the circuit, especially for the way he keeps his car taken care of and the way he celebrates every single race, win or lose. He's harsh on himself and knows when he's made mistakes, but as far as he's concerned, he's won something.

As they speed through the finish, the flags go down
The fans get up and they get out of town
The arena is empty except for one man
Still driving and striving as fast as he can

Sometimes he'll stick around until everyone is gone because he doesn't want to go home. He wants to keep *going*. It's a lot friendlier on the track.

The sun has gone down and the moon has come up
And long ago somebody left with the cup
But he's driving and striving and hugging the turns

Sometimes it's been a hard week and he needs the thrum of his car to stay sane. Especially if people have done something stupid, which is almost always the case.

And thinking of someone for whom he still burns

He started racing when he made a friend who was obsessed with it. He's still doing it so that he doesn't lose that part of them that stayed with him. He can't just drop it.

He's going the distance
He's going for speed
She's all alone (all alone)
All alone in her time of need

When he has those bad weeks he ends up neglecting the friends he's got. He makes up for it as he can but sometimes you just get lost in your escapism.

Because he's racing and pacing and plotting the course
He's fighting and biting and riding on his horse

He's too busy to give even Wisconsin a passing glance. He misses that they don't appreciate being ignored.

He's going the distance
No trophy, no flowers, no flashbulbs, no wine
He's haunted by something he cannot define
Bowel-shaking earthquakes of doubt and remorse
Assail him, impale him with monster-truck force

He stays long nights out there, trying to forget the accidents he's seen go down. Racing can be dangerous. Things can blow up. Literally, in some cases. And then he realizes he's been ignoring his friends and it makes him feel worse. It's hard to balance emotions.