Black hole in the bed
Winter is the metaphysical
Car lights and tall trees
Anger in her finger tips
Holding the glass of warm blood
That she took from a store
With no name, just a man
A man with a long grey beard
Telling the same story
Of summer in '78
When he rode his bike down
To the water hole, dead fish & toads
Escaping his father with a bat
Thinking of being all alone