On a cold night in tempermental March
Two big-eyed boys in the back seat
And a baby in the front
Me under the hood
Saying prayers over a battery
Long in the tooth
And bearded with corrosion
I’ve got a quarter for a phone call
but the Tower door is closed
I don’t want to try the bar
And all my men are long gone
And on the road

You stop for me
Pull in from the south
In a rattletrap truck
Held together with faith and bailing wire
Angel in tattered blue jeans
Slow smile and grey eyes
So shy they tear at my heart
Like the torn pocket on your shirt
A bristle of whisker
Unkempt hair three days past a trim
And hands that know their way around

You’ve started something
And my engine turns over twice
But the lights do not come on
You walk me to the door
Duck your head to the boys
Who give you back your grin
They know a kindred soul
I think I can take 81 in the dark
But when I am safe behind the wheel
You offer to follow me home
And I drive in the shelter of your light