Forty Below

Forty Below

Oh my goodness, it’s forty below,

Winds are high, cars covered in snow.

I put on my boots, coat, and hat,

Walk to the car, feeling flat.

Come on baby, the sky is clear,

Please start for me and quiet my fear.

Frozen checklist, runs through my head,

Oh God, I hope the battery's not dead.

Key in ignition, I’m crossing my fingers,

Reciting my prayers, but worry still lingers.

I turn the key; the car begins talking,

rea…ly...sick…you…are…wal..king…

Face turns white, and drops like stone,

Reality kicks in; I don’t like this tone.

I remove the key, slunk back in the seat,

wish there was a way to generate heat.

New round of prayers, eyes in the air,

Turn the ignition and begin to swear.

Car repeats position; oh this cannot be,

Show starts in an hour, please start for me.

Come now baby, I’ll take care of you,

Just turn the engine, for good ole Stew?

Woo…woo…well…may…be…OK!

Yes, yes, yes, concerts on today!

Car engine running, heater on max,

Vows made, to preserve my pax.

I step out of vehicle, scraper in hand,

Slam the door shut, smiling grande.

As the door closes, I hear that clop,

Oh my god, my spirits then drop.

I realize quickly, it was the locks,

And spare car keys, are in the glovebox.

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