Heat Lightning Testo

Clouds flash up ahead
Just heat lightning, he thinks
No rain for the flames

Death rides at night in a copper Pinto
Candy in the glove box where a revolver would go
His bones are trapped in greasy fat and he’s
Shaking as he laughs at
Jokes about the weather and news from the fire at the mill
Letting parched mosquitoes drink their fill Between his knuckles on the wheel while he
Laughs like baby pigs squeal

Pale eyes, huge, behind thick glasses
Speeding through lights, turning green as he passes

Says, “Weathermen are worse than those tarot card teens
They can’t explain every little thing
I don’t care what they say, ain’t gonna rain
Fires aren’t made just to be tamed”

Death pulls off to piss in a patch of dry weeds
Aiming at every lightning bug he sees
Hears a creature crying from a ditch, you know
Death just can’t resist it
He looks at all the models on the billboards going by
Thinking of X’s in their eyes
He smiles at his wandering mind while he’s
Glowing in the moonlight
The radio turns to static
He sticks his hand out the window
And winces at the first drops of rain, yeah

Says, “Weathermen are worse than those palm reading freaks
They can’t explain every little thing
I don’t care what they say about the rain
It’s not stopping in a day–ain’t no way
It’s not gonna end till every coffin’s swimming”