Driving down the blacktop
Down near Dead Man’s Creek.
Where the timbers shiver
In the cold wind of November.

Just past the old airport road
But the planes left this dying town
A long, long time ago.
And no one blames them anymore.

The strip hasn’t been used in years
For anything but a petulant party pad
Away from the prying eyes
Of parental supervision

The gaze we used to hate
Thinking it was holding us back
Only years later did we learned
To appreciate the guide

For we were young
We were reckless
But in the ways
You are supposed to be

Until the day Timmy disappeared
Into the bottom of the river
And on that fateful day
Dead Man’s Creek got its name.