There.
There is a truck on this side of town
(Not new, not old, but light and brown)
Its bed holds my heart as a thorny crown.
A ghost truck, around every corner
A funeral dropping and I the mourner
The pit in my stomach becomming forlorner.
I hate that it in my memory lives
My heart pretending that it forgives
But does nothing more than relives and relives.
Then off in the distance this ghost truck will roll
Dragging along the bits of my soul
And one bumper sticker: Pohl Rosa Pohl
