The Chili Frost of Night

Lovers promising they’ll never part; and a Dixie woman’s daughter; That builds the walls within her heart. A Detroit motor purring; with a top that would go down; And the blues coming from the radio; sends a message I can understand; these are the stories that express the kind of guy I am. And the illustrator often erases with his rubber the distinctions; That so often distinguishes good intentions. Tattoos fade like pictures from the past; And as deafening sounds of silence prevent peace within the night The spirit of the jackal lies in wait; in hopes for a chance to fight