ब्लड ओं ६६

There is always blood on 66
Route to or from
Dont matter no
Especially in spring
When trying to cross
There is no fostered
continuation of life
My wheels as black as the sky
The moon as high as
My wine
Men been crowing like roosters
primping feathers
Strutting me up
My hips driving on
to the song
rythm of night
Over that hill
these bloody roads
and sleeping houses
sleeping
sleeping