Greg Trafidlo: Listen to the Music

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My response to the proliferation of "angel" songs.

CHEVY IN HEAVEN
Greg Trafidlo © 2005

Saturday mornings, I'd walk out in my jammies
There'd be my Daddy, with his bucket and his chamois
High-pressure nozzle. A natural sponge
Elbow grease to clean the grunge
Then fortune dealt us all a double whammy

Drove off toward the Auto Zone, he's low on Turtle Wax
That was many years ago, and he never did come back
It ain't the angels bowling, or the hammer of Thor
He's haulin' tail to Gods' Pep Boys store
Every time I hear the thunder crack

Daddy's washing the Chevy on high
That car shines like a comet in the sky
We miss him and his old fifty-seven
Daddy's washing the Chevy in heaven

With his sacred Simonize he's buffing out the dings
In a spotless robe, where the white dove sings
When storm clouds' form and spring rain falls
He's cleaning tar off the old white walls
And pit marks from his chrome plated wings

Repeat chorus

Now I drive the straight and narrow and keep him fondly in my memory
His eyes are on my Camaro and I know, he's washing over me

Daddy's washing the Chevy on high
That car shines like a comet in the sky
The tempest in paradise is revvin'
When daddy's washing the Chevy in heaven