There he stands, by himself, alone,
Leaning against his red Pontiac Trans Am.
Smoke rises in the air, a cigarette in his hand.
He stares down in contemplation,
With his leather jacket he is locked against the door. The sun falls in the so near distance;
It burns against the front of his body,
His sunglasses mirroring the pain.
Darkness fades into the world around him,
Casting behind him, alongside his shadow,
The beast of the night consumes him.
He drops his cigarette, out of his hand,
Rubs it into the pavement with his boot.
He enters his vehicle, leaving his past behind him. The 1977 Firebird welcomes him,
And he drifts into the endless void.