There's snow on the wind, there's rain on the wind,
The cold's like a rat at your bones;
You crank your car till your soul caves in,
But the engine only moans.
The night is as black as hell's black pit;
You feel your crawling way
Along the shell-gutted, gun-gashed road—
How—only God can say.
The 120's and 75's
Are bellowing on the hill;