God made the automobile to pass all the pretty girls that smoke by the side of the road, their blues lovin' boys in tow; to drive until the end of the day, and bow to a borrowed flag beside all the brave and the blind, and men without men in mind.
To pass all the things he made but then never bothered to name. And no one will tell the truth, and no one will hide it from you, like birds around the grave.
God made the automobile, and I made a little boy to pass all the blissfully young.
The snake with the forked toungue that prays on the waiting for time, and makes in the sleepless waves, the fear of the black and the jew, and blood for the camera crew.
It passes the things he made and then never bothered to name. And no one will tell the truth, and no one will hide it from you, like birds around the grave.
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