Gasoline

hands glued to the steering wheel,
smack between a ledge straight down
and a wall of spruce as thick as thieves.
and as sure as a sharp corner comes
a jack-knife kind of creepiness,
sweeps up and over me.
oh gasoline
don’t leak out on me,
two thousand miles left to go
a brand new name, haircut,
hell make me a blond
if it’ll blend me in.
“lovely weather for an april day,
i just came through saskatchewan
from as south as you can drive before you drop.”
said he just planned on passing through,
but that he didn’t know he’d crash into
tarnation pouring coffee in a lonely old truckstop.
oh gasoline
don’t leak out on me,
two thousand miles left to go
a brand new name, haircut,
hell make me a blond
if it’ll blend me in.
down it goes from there on in,
i’m a sucker for attention
when it revs up to me wheeling like a screech.
but by degrees his grip got tight,
suspicion turned his knuckles white,
had to drive them in my face to find relief.
where i found the muster is a mystery
best left in apartments found deserted
and a semi-trailer theft.
where you ended i’ll pick up,
onwards to tuktoyaktuk,
about as north as you can drive before you drop.
oh gasoline
don’t leak out on me,
two thousand miles left to go
a brand new name, haircut,
hell make me a blond
if it’ll blend me in.