Cyclades

My dad rode a 750 When he lived alone in Siskiyou County He memorize the curves Of the forest route of Shasta to his home Once he flew around a bend And elk were scattered across the road No time to brake So he closed his eyes and prayed There's too many stories to remember Too many stories to tell Too many stories Years later in Greece With my mom shining blue and gold Playing, "Honey, Take the Wheel" On a windy Cycladean road With a heavy rain falling Their car lost all control And slid over the line Towards a trailer truck head on There's too many stories to remember Too many stories to tell Too many stories The way I remember them telling me They slid right through the truck Not around or under But in one side and out the other It broke the laws of physics And my childhood memory But they said, "You made that all up" When I retold their story recently There's too many stories to remember Too many stories to tell Too many stories There's too many stories to remember Too many stories to tell Too many stories