Old wood garage where I'd fetch Dad's tools just so I could sit and watch...

Now just a heap all dusty and dark harboring Shadows that thirst and reach.

Slow gliding cars leave our dead end behind with hand waves and big smiling faces...

Street lights pop on now there's Sinister Sedan windows crack as it hungrily searches.

Looking down the ravine with the creek and it's coal,  picking pockets full of blackberries...

Just heed when you dream they'll be chasing your soul, wish for a Hobo's hole with disguises.