Myssouri Muscle Car on a Dead End Road Furnace Songs

The great grey sky, flat and wide, shivers above the heat. And silver rain lays like razor blades into the wounded miles of wheat. And the road resists with the rubbery kiss of meat. A solitary tower, beaconed and boned, strobes red as the liquid wind blows, like blood in a river, and I turn to the driver, say, This is a dead end And the driver nods he knows. But the muscle car never slows. Sit down and soak in the rain and the woe. Stoke your fire in the mire of the dead end road. Take a drink, ste