TAXI.com

Chain Lightning'long a Loo-zee-ana two-lane, in the red wool August heatSgt. Smith whistled "Dixie", while his road gang sickled weedsthose brothers of the iron, sang Muddy and Howlin' Wolfthey felt tingling in their shackles, as lightning whipped n crackledand storms rolled in from the Gulfwell, Smith watched from his Chevy, laughing at the men in chainsmud was brown as bruised bananas, as they labored in the rainthen came a flash from Hades, and smoke rose from ev'ry manthe scene was deathly fright'ning, as a stab of lightningseared their sickles to their handsand the sound of their voices, was something to beholdtheir blood ran cold as thunder rolledthen their mournful song was here and gonelike a thunderboltwell, Smith got away with murder, and a year came and wentand if men be not punished, why bother to repenthe was driving home one night, the blacktop was slick and wetthen the sky filled with fire, he heard a voodoo choirand saw a ghostly silouhettefive shadows swingin' sickles, shook him to his soulhe swerved to miss his conscience, and hit a power polewell, that wire was a serpent, whose fangs were shooting sparkssmolderin' hair...smokin' denim, that viper's shocking venommade him shimmer in the darkand the sound of their voices, was something to beholdhis blood ran cold as thunder rolledthen their mournful song was here and gonelike a thunderboltnow there's a whispered legend, that gives church folk a chillwhen blue flame burns the hollers, and black clouds hat the hillsyou can almost hear the whistling, and see the glowing chainsis it hell's bells-a-ringin' or just the haunted singin'of a ghost guard and his gangcos the sound of their voices, is something to beholdtheir blood runs cold when thunder rollsthen their mournful songs are here and gonelike a thunderbolt(c)2007 Robert George