My date of birth kept in memory of a bartender (pt. one).
And the drive-in felt forever as the midnight clock was in pattering mood for the whiskey crushed air to sashay with his pall on the road to nowhere and every now and then he warbles the love song he wrote overnight or two; "Feeling her hand in mine", and with a lover´s blood he wrote a song about his only friend, "the cigarette smoke and smell of pint is truly my brand." Beloved son and holy; "father, this is my only. God knows where I´ll stand in five years but the miles are boundless and for my miry feet the end is just back then when I crossed the land of this no-win inn... so my life isn´t over, oh no my dearest, but I feel it´ll never start. So I wonder... what are angels when they die? People say they live forever, but I´m not sure, are they alive?"