Fire in the mirror,
the sunset paints the roadside red
Dylon's in my jukebox, playin'
I keep forging on a head.
Snowwind has my fingers freezin'
the heating unit has gone dead.
I grip the cold, biting steering wheel.
Visions of a night in bed.
As I unwind the twisted road
frostheaves jar my pearly whites
Dreamin' of the western sunshine
through long, cold days and lonely nights
In all-consuming wish for warmth
I fail to notice wondrous sights
As dusk burns the country to ashen-grey
Come down to earth, turn on my headlights.
from Confusion: a finer distinction
by Michael R. Martin c.1978