The night still young in the rearview mirror I wander along route 66 in my torch red Corvette. The headlights create a tunnel in the dark and foggy night, and my convertible is a moving cage protecting its knight. My fingers hold on to the warmth from the dying cigarette. My eyes hunger for the light, from the full moon silver and bright. I stare at the moon and look for my silhouette, and dreams that I clung to tight. But the moonlight is too harsh for my eyes, I turn to the rearview mirror quiet and gentle, and see the rising moon in the creamy sky. A nightingale flies in and cruises its treble, singing a song that warms the moon light, and gives my torch red Corvette wings to fly high. |