slap a dime. 

The flavor, like an open road. Stuck together with the sticky September Sun.

Hands together before the flies dance the night away. Stand in line like a dead

Man at a funeral. The fire is closer than before, pack your bags before the bees.

Pull the clouds down past our souls, the Devil will be waiting for his ride.

Open road jams, open road jelly, the old man still lives in my ancient cellar.