car is running and kicking out funes, you've disappeared inside to buy =
the daily quota, I'm fending for myself to a popular tune, digging in =
the ashtray, hoping for a quarter. Mile on mile of transient hotels, =
unattended children with nowhere to play, anger rips down pine street in =
the form of a black chevelle, but the baptists keep singin' away. One =
lone palm tree is rising above it's glamour and dignity are so out of =
place an ancient pick up truck is looking for a shove, the congregation =
sings, amazing grace!
Submitted by: Mel
