Parker Olsen drives her Ford the length of 95 and says that I can drive if I want to. "We can float from ruin to wreckage, tooth and nail," where I can bail any second that I want to. To surrender all your cycles for the shakes won't cost you nothing. When the car became Virginia's she took the 64 to Richmond, and I was flooded with confusion. And she would skate across the lines of all the names that she despised, and I'd be doing things that I don't do. And she was tinged from rough to reckless, chewing nails to the root. And I was told the truth would kill me too. To rehearse the ugly fall or catch the pain from all your stumbling? I'm afraid my love, you were always up to something. There was thief inside the camp. Can't see the shadow if you're oil in the lamp burning. On a switchback street, she finally asleep, I drove us over. Moments late and suddenly awake, the car was floating. We were majors in the blessed hymn together drifting from the rafters. What a shame to share a wasted sin. And I was sick of soaking fires, but Parker O was taking lives in every city we went through. Have I found you with your fingers frozen onto where the weight first brought you down? Is it realer than death when you're stealing the breath from the horses mouth?