Elvis At The Wheel

There is an independent book store
The last one that remained
All the othres you might look for
Have been eaten by the chains
The soldier on
On one cleans the windows panes
And it was there I read the story
So strange it must be real
Of a car in Arizona with Elvis at the wheel
He is looking up
The sky has something to reveal
It is the face of Josef Stanhard
Being formed by drifting clouds
Above the sleeping Memphis mafia
And unsuspecting cows
This is a sign from god…