My Coyote Heart is strewn across the highway,
laid out bare for you to see it,
and it's not much but it’s what I’m made of. 

Hold my heart with the desire you have to cure the world,
because it seems that there’s always something new for me to grieve, rather than old things,
so my dear, please hold me tenderly.

From this view, the stars forget their relevance to me,
closing their eyes in the polluted air.
Come morning, I won’t see the sun,

but these headlights might just be enough.