A little grey
In the heart and beard,
Big rig pilot rides
Whispering thunder across
Lonely sage-and-snow plains:
As always,
Shiftin’ gear,
Pushing calendar promises
And clock’s ransom demands;
Wry smile lights up the face
As the tune chnages
“Pretty woman, plain woman
Tellin’ a lie
Is just a signal
For the sky
To cry.”