The night still young in the rearview mirror
I wander along route 66 in my torch red Corvette.
The headlights create a tunnel in the dark and foggy night,
and my convertible is a moving cage protecting its knight.
My fingers hold on to the warmth from the dying cigarette.
My eyes hunger for the light,
from the full moon silver and bright.
I stare at the moon and look for my silhouette,
and dreams that I clung to tight.
But the moonlight is too harsh for my eyes,
I turn to the rearview mirror quiet and gentle,
and see the rising moon in the creamy sky.
A nightingale flies in and cruises its treble,
singing a song that warms the moon light,
and gives my torch red Corvette wings to fly high.
