I'm a hard man, yes, with all these memories of snowy nights and desert dawns, pink and so near, your comfortable inner space my only horizon: as much identity as youth could bear, and now calling it quits? But you won't quit. All-American beauty, the Detroit iron in your shape still moves me. Always dangerous, now you're unpredictable and very expensive to keep. I hate to see you go to the wrecking yard of poetry and oblivion.