death was the driver

the scrape of boots on a gravel road, dust and ashes, dancing at my feet, as i hitchhike through the desert, through the bowels of the sunburnt country, where it's littered with skeletons, of bodies and cars that collapsed, and through the graveyard rides old man death, in his black cadillac, he rolls down the window on the driver side, and i first see his darked marked hand, and he grins at me with yellow teeth and he gestures with a half cigarette, he says "hop in and i'll get you where you're going", and i ask "where is that?", he flicks the filter, says "hell if i know, but i'll get you there fast, to a place where they lay down your life, if my son you are sure it's your time", riding shotgun in his car with, filled with words that never said, silently upon the road we ride into the fiery sunset, i ask him to where we're going again to which he replies, "to the world's end, to the world's end", and i asked him "what happens next?" and he said, "you're all sitting bravely upon your crosses, just waiting for the water to rise, with fingernails you're clinging to, the hope that faith will float when you will die, and if it does, well i don't know, you'll only have to wait for tonight, for tonight, because i'll be out of a job after tonight, for my son, the time has come, it all comes down, at midnight the dying lights all go out, all go out, all go out, and at this point my mind was made, i kindly asked for him to stop, he just grinned his yellow grin, he said, he'd see me come twelve o'clock, i was back where i had started, and old man death was riding off, was driving off, the static of his radio was trailing off