Rubbing his eyes and stretching his arms..
awing at the curves lying ahead.
The Rider with his soiled boots,
crawls right out from his fragile tent,
Brushing the dirt from his vest away,
glances the devil through the corner of his eye.
.. The storm blew heavy the night before,
through he rode this machine across.
The Rider stamps the camp fire dead,
mounts his Harley and heads for the pins
The Rider rumbles on.. in search for his kins