On The Wing

Good god them get-away sticks

made for burning a bridge

it’s shout-out time, we are screaming

like night birds on the wing

we allow the tires to eat the road

wailing, wailing, burning a bridge

with them get-away sticks

and gray eyes gone brown

there ain’t no night but this one

closing softly over us;

Like night birds,

we were once

on the wing.