The night still young in the rearview mirror

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.