Words and Music Michael Veitch
(c)2020 Burt Street Music All Rights Reserved
My father drove a Pontiac to his dying day
After years of wishing and hoping and praying
He believed in whiskey and miracles in the air
He believed in the angels, believed in the angels out there
He said ride with me to the end of the long white line
Where the most beautiful smile hangs there in the sky
All red gold and blue, an electric wild eye
Those are the angels, those are angels on fire
Beyond that neon and the shimmer in the mist
Miles from here the place where the broken find some rest
And the dust it gets washed down with every last ounce of regrets
And the ice it never melts, and the juke box never quits it never quits
We let no rain fall between us
We’re the last of the line here
Singing sweet as darkness calls us
Under skies so near
Believing in the whiskey and the miracles in the air
Don’t forget to make your wishes don’t forget to say your prayers
My father drove a Pontiac…etc.