The fog was thicker than a stray dog with fleas.
We were leaving a Mission Bay Bar, if you please,
But the fog was so thick you could probably seize
Big hunks of it that clung to our car
Like tufts of cotton candy you see at the fair.
We had to drive with the door open so we could see
The yellow line on the street, below our knees.
This was in the 50's, on our way back to base.
Driving slowly was all we could do,
So it was a very slow pace.
There were no street lights, like there are today
Just the pitch black of night fog, as we went our way.

Of all things, in this World I've seen,
there has never been anything
like a well oiled machine.
The sound of that clickety clack,
raised the hairs on your back.
A clatter of valves, camshaft of course,
the exhaust of the rear engine,
air cooled 911 Porsche.

I know not what I write,
I know not at all.
The words that pour out
are not mine I write,
for there seem to be no
thought in my mind,
other than writing the words.
Hopefully they're not trite
but have meaning to you,
it's for you that I care,
no matter the issue,
no matter the time,
my wish for you
is Peace and be kind.

Laying in bed, words all of jumble;
I'm not writing them down,
for I will not tumble,
into this pit of worry
or feeling sorry for me.
Oh dear God, help me out of this mess
of seeing my beloved, slipping away.
What can I do, on this miserable day?
My love for her is still there;
She knows me not, I'll not despair,
for I know her and always will.
My love for her gives me a thrill.
I know these words, corny they are,
but they're my words, they surely are.