Mephistopheles stares idly back From the charcoal-print postcard, Taped up to the rear-view mirror On the driver's side. It looks to me Like Sad Wings of Destiny, Representative of those In danger to be damned. I'll reach out for his hand, Drive down to the crossroad And then cross the Rio Grande. I kick my heel to the gas. Another look to the rear-view; I get a glimpse, You're in the back Cleanin' up your six shooter To our favorite delta blues track. As a bullet skips From your lips to the gun, You sing "my father is a fascist, And the only good fascist is a dead one." It looks as if You've signed your soul away To guarantee that he Will be the best one. In my head, I tuck and roll out of the car. Bobby Johnson's on his knees As Mephistopheles plays steel guitar. Murder isn't that hard, So far.