The death angel said hello,
tapping on my car’s window.
She also bummed a smoke,
and of you and me she spoke.
A chain book store, cold night.
She said maybe it was still right
to dream of you, better than
the lingering rage at a Jesus Man.
Thin, gold rim glasses, black hair.
Rebekah you have a halo to despair.
You have a smile I made an a prize.
A dirty needle of greed, no surprise.
The death angel makes a joke rhyme.
Her cold, soft hands inspire my crime.
The night is endless, for you I ache, empty.
Walking on the highway, you just tempt me.