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
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